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SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD 


LOWELL LECTURES, 1925 


eine O« 
a ae 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


WEW YORK + BOSTON + CHICAGO + DALLAS 
ATLANTA * SAN FRANCISCO 


MACMILLAN & CO., LimitTEpD 


LONDON + BOMBAY - CALCUTTA 
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SCIENCE 
AND THE MODERN WORLD 
<n OF Ts > 


FEB 8 - 1927 
“4 y 
ocica gw 






LOWELL LECTURES, 192 





BY 
ALFRED NORTH WHITEHEAD 


F.R.S., Sc.D. (Cambridge), Hon. D.Sc. (Manchester), 
Hon, LL.D, (St. Andrews) 


FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE 
AND PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 


j2ew Work 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1926 


All rights reserved 


CorryricHTt, 1925, 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 





Set up and printed. 
Published October, 1925. 
Reprinted, March, 1926. 
Reprinted, August, 1926. 

Reprinted, December, 1926. 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY 
THE CORNWALL PRESS 


TO 
MY COLLEAGUES, 
PAST AND PRESENT, 


WHOSE FRIENDSHIP IS INSPIRATION 


{ Watt TAM 
mane 
Tes A 


UN PAR SR er LA EC 
Ar 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE 
- I. Tue Oricins oF MopERN SCIENCE. . . I 
II. MATHEMATICS AS AN ELEMENT IN THE His- 
TORY. OF UHOUGHIY chy sii ieee ne MT any 2O) 
TU Doe CENTURY) (OF GFENTUS Chittick) 
TV LHe LIGHTEENTHD CENTURY (Fh ei) B38 
Mia Lt ROMANTICN REACTION? Utne NS TOG 
Vie Dire NINETHENTH) CENTURY ini go iy 389 
VERE EA TIVITY. On ite ae AUP A MR OO 
V Eee ie QUANTUM DHEORY 50) ONG SU a Be 
Tee OCLENCE AND) PHILOSOPHY (035), Dell) TOO 
PML STAACTION Gn Wh Gtirenancn Vin icat CU uilinhe aaah | aoO 
RTE oe RUT Oya aN ie Gn WOME QAO 
DE ELIGIONS AND OCIENGE | 00) fois Wat 259 
XIII. Rereuisrres ror SoctaL Procress . . . 277 


eRe ee ia Wig ch ecg a RAG NU: Sop 





PREFACE 


THE present book embodies a study of some aspects 
of Western culture during the past three centuries, 
in so far as it has been influenced by the develop- 
ment of science. This study has been guided by the 
conviction that the mentality of an epoch springs 
from the view of the world which is. in fact, domi- 
nant in the educated sections of the communities in 
question. There may be more than one such 
scheme, corresponding to cultural divisions. The 
various human interests which suggest cosmologies, 
and also are influenced by them, are science, aes- 
thetics, ethics, religion. In every age each of these 
topics suggests a view of the world. In so far as 
the same set of people are swayed by all, or more 
than one, of these interests, their effective outlook 
will be the joint production from these sources. But 
each age has its dominant preoccupation; and, dur- 
ing the three centuries in question, the cosmology 
derived from science has been asserting itself at the 
expense of older points of view with their origins 
elsewhere. Men can be provincial in time, as well 
as in place. We may ask ourselves whether the 
scientific mentality of the modern world in the imme- 
diate past is not a successful example of such pro- 
vincial limitation. 

Philosophy, in one of its functions, is the critic 


ix 


x PREFACE 


of cosmologies. It is its function to harmonise, re- 
fashion, and justify divergent intuitions as to the 
nature of things. It has to insist on the scrutiny of 
the ultimate ideas, and on the retention of the whole 
of the evidence in shaping our cosmological scheme. 
Its business is to render explicit, and—so far as may 
be—effcient, a process which otherwise is uncon- 
sciously performed without rational tests. 

Bearing this in mind, I have avoided the intro- 
duction of a variety of abstruse detail respecting 
scientific advance. What is wanted, and what I have 
striven after, is a sympathetic study of main ideas 
as seen from ihe inside. If my view of the function 
of philosophy is correct, it is the most effective of 
all the intellectual pursuits. It builds cathedrals 
before the workmen have moved a stone, and it 
destroys them before the elements have worn down 
their arches. It is the architect of the buildings of 
the spirit, and it is also their solvent:—and the 
spiritual precedes the material. Philosophy works 
slowly. ‘Thoughts lie dormant for ages; and then, 
almost suddenly as it were, mankind finds that they 
have embodied themselves in institutions. 

This book in the main consists of a set of eight 
Lowell Lectures delivered in the February of 1925. 
These lectures with some slight expansion, and the 
subdivision of one lecture into Chapters VII and 
VIII, are here printed as delivered. But some addi- 
tional matter has been added, so as to complete the 
thought of the book on a scale which could not be 
included within that lecture course. Of this new 
matter, the second chapter—‘Mathematics as an 


PREFACE xi 


Element in the History of Thought’—was delivered 
as a lecture before the Mathematical Society of 
Brown University, Providence, R. I.; and the 
twelfth chapter—'Religion and Science’—formed 
an address delivered in the Phillips Brooks House 
at Harvard, and is to be published in the August 
number of the Atlantic Monthly of this year 
(1925). ‘The tenth and eleventh chapters—‘Ab- 
straction’ and ‘God’—are additions which now ap- 
pear for the first time. But the book represents 
one train of thought, and the antecedent utilisation 
of some of its contents is a subsidiary point. 

There has been no occasion in the text to make 
detailed reference to Lloyd Morgan’s Emergent 
Evolution or to Alexander’s Space, Time and Deity. 
It will be obvious to readers that I have found them 
very suggestive. I am especially indebted to Alex- 
ander’s great work. [he wide scope of the pres- 
ent book makes it impossible to acknowledge in 
detail the various sources of information or of 
ideas. The book is the product of thought and 
reading in past years, which were not undertaken 
with any anticipation of utilisation for the present 
purpose. Accordingly it would now be impossible 
for me to give reference to my sources for details, 
even if it were desirable so to do. But there is no 
need: the facts which are relied upon are simple 
and well known. On the philosophical side, any 
consideration of epistemology has been entirely 
excluded. It would have been impossible to 
discuss that topic without upsetting the whole 
balance of the work. ‘The key to the book is the 


xii PREFACE 


sense of the overwhelming importance of a prevalent 
philosophy. 

My most grateful thanks are due to my colleague 
Mr. Raphael Demos for reading the proofs and 
for the suggestion of many improvements in 
expression. 


Harvard University, 
june 29, 1925. 


SCIENCE AND THE MODERN 
WORLD 


CHAPTER I 
THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 


THE progress of civilisation is not wholly a uniform 
drift towards better things. It may perhaps wear 
this aspect if we map it on a scale which is large 
enough. But such broad views obscure the details 
on which rests our whole understanding of the proc- 
ess. New epochs emerge with comparative sudden- 
ness, if we have regard to the scores of thousands 
of years throughout which the complete history 
extends. Secluded races suddenly take their places 
in the main stream of events: technological discov- 
eries transform the mechanism of human life: a 
primitive art quickly flowers into full satisfaction of 
some aesthetic craving: great religions in their 
crusading youth spread through the nations the 
peace of Heaven and the sword of the Lord. 

The sixteenth century of our era saw the disrup- 
tion of Western Christianity and the rise of modern 
science. It was an age of ferment. Nothing was 
settled, though much was opened—new worlds and 
new ideas. In science, Copernicus and Vesalius may 
be chosen as representative figures: they typify the 
new cosmology and the scientific emphasis on direct 

1 


2 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cn. 


observation. Giordano Bruno was the martyr: 
though the cause for which he suffered was not that 
of science, but that of free imaginative speculation. 
His death in the year 1600 ushered in the first 
century of modern science in the strict sense of the 
term. In his execution there was an unconscious 
symbolism: for the subsequent tone of scientific 
thought has contained distrust of his type of general 
speculativeness. The Reformation, for all its im- 
portance, may be considered as a domestic affair 
of the European races. Even the Christianity of 
the East viewed it with profound disengagement. 
Furthermore, such disruptions are no new phenom- 
ena in the history of Christianity or of other reli- 
gions. When we project this great revolution upon 
the whole history of the Christian Church, we can- 
not look upon it as introducing a new principle into 
human life. For good or for evil, it was a great 
transformation of religion; but it was not the com- 
ing of religion. It did not itself claim to be so. 
Reformers maintained that they were only restoring 
what had been forgotten. 

It is quite otherwise with the rise of modern 
science. In every way it contrasts with the con- 
temporary religious movement. The Reformation 
was a popular uprising, and for a century and a half 
drenched Europe in blood. The beginnings of the 
scientific movement were confined to a minority 
among the intellectual élite. In a generation which 
saw the Thirty Years’ War and remembered Alva 
in the Netherlands, the worst that happened to men 
of science was that Galileo suffered an honourable 
detention and a mild reproof, before dying peace- 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 3 


fully in his bed. The way in which the persecution 
of Galileo has been remembered is a tribute to the 
quiet commencement of the most intimate change 
in outlook which the human race had yet encoun- 
tered. Since a babe was born in a manger, it may 
be doubted whether so great a thing has happened 
with so little‘stir. 

The thesis which these lectures will illustrate is 
that this quiet growth of science has practically 
recoloured our mentality so that modes of thought 
which in former times were exceptional are now 
broadly spread through the educated world. This 
new colouring of ways of thought had been proceed- 
ing slowly for many ages in the European peoples. 
At last it issued in the rapid development of science; 
and has thereby strengthened itself by its most 
obvious application. “The new mentality is more 
important even than the new science and the new 
technology. It has altered the metaphysical presup- 
positions and the imaginative contents of our minds; 
so that now the old stimuli provoke a new response. 
Perhaps my metaphor of a new colour is too strong. 
What I mean is just that slightest change of tone 
which yet makes all the difference. This is exactly 
illustrated by a sentence from a published letter of 
that adorable genius, William James. When he was 
finishing his great treatise on the Principles of 
Psychology, he wrote to his brother Henry James, 
‘I have to forge every sentence in the teeth of irre- 
ducible and stubborn facts.’ 

This new tinge to modern minds is a vehement 
and passionate interest in the relation of general 
principles to irreducible and stubborn facts. All the 


4 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


world over and at all times there have been practical 
men, absorbed in ‘irreducible and stubborn facts’: 
all the world over and at all times there have been 
men of philosophic temperament who have been 
absorbed in the weaving of general principles. It 
is this union of passionate interest in the detailed 
facts with equal devotion to abstract generalisation 
which forms the novelty in our present society. Pre- 
viously it had appeared sporadically and as if by 
chance. This balance of mind has now become part 
of the tradition which infects cultivated thought. 
It is the salt which keeps life sweet. The main 
business of universities is to transmit this tradition 
as a widespread inheritance from generation to gen- 
eration. 

Another contrast which singles out science from 
among the European movements of the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries is its universality. Mod- 
ern science was born in Europe, but its home is the 
whole world. In the last two centuries there has 
been a long and confused impact of Western modes 
upon the civilisation of Asia. ‘The wise men of the 
East have been puzzling, and are puzzling, as to 
what may be the regulative secret of life which can 
be passed from West to East without the wanton 
destruction of their own inheritance which they so 
rightly prize. More and more it is becoming evi- 
dent that what the West can most readily give to 
the East is its science and its scientific outlook. 
This is transferable from country to country, and 
from race to race, wherever there is a rational 
society. 

In this course of lectures I shall not discuss the 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE § 


details of scientific discovery. My theme is the ener- 
gising of a state of mind in the modern world, its 
broad generalisations, and its impact upon other 
spiritual forces. ‘There are two ways of reading 
history, forwards and backwards. In the history 
of thought, we require both methods. A climate 
of opinion—to use the happy phrase of a seven- 
teenth century writer—requires for its understand- 
ing the consideration of its antecedents and its issues. 
Accordingly in this lecture I shall consider some of 
the antecedents of our modern approach to the 
investigation of nature. 

In the first place, there can be no living science 
unless there is a widespread instinctive conviction in 
the existence of an Order of Things, and, in partic- 
ular, of an Order of Nature. I have used the word 
instinctive advisedly. It does not matter what men 
say in words, so long as their activities are con- 
trolled by settled instincts. The words may ulti- 
mately destroy the instincts. But until this has 
occurred, words do not count. ‘This remark is 
important in respect to the history of scientific 
thought. For we shall find that since the time of 
Hume, the fashionable scientific philosophy has been 
such as to deny the rationality of science. This con- 
clusion lies upon the surface of Hume’s philosophy. 
Take, for example, the following passage from Sec- 
tion IV of his Inquiry Concerning Human Under- 
standing: 


‘In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its 
cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause; 
and the first invention or conception of it, a priori, must be 
entirely arbitrary.’ 


6 SCIENCE AND 1}HE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


If the cause in itself discloses no information as to 
the effect, so that the first invention of it must be 
entirely arbitrary, it follows at once that science is 
impossible, except in the sense of establishing 
entirely arbitrary connections which are not war- 
ranted by anything intrinsic to the natures either of 
causes or effects. Some variant of Hume’s philos- 
ophy has generally prevailed among men of science. 
But scientific faith has risen to the occasion, and 
has tacitly removed the philosophic mountain. 

In view of this strange contradiction in scientific 
thought, it is of the first importance to consider the 
antecedents of a faith which is impervious to the 
demand for a consistent rationality. We have 
therefore to trace the rise of the instinctive faith 
that there is an Order of Nature which can be traced 
in every detained occurrence. 

Of course we all share in this faith, and we there- 
fore believe that the reason for the faith is our 
apprehension of its truth. But the formation of a 
general idea—such as the idea of the Order of 
Nature—and the grasp of its importance, and the 
observation of its exemplification in a variety of 
occasions are by no means the necessary conse- 
quences of the truth of the idea in question. Famil- 
iar things happen, and mankind does not bother 
about them. It requires a very unusual mind to 
undertake the analysis of the obvious. Accordingly 
I wish to consider the stages in which this analysis 
became explicit, and finally became unalterably 
impressed upon the educated minds of Western 
Europe. 


Obviously, the main recurrences of life are too 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE - 


insistent to escape the notice of the least rational 
of humans; and even before the dawn of rationality, 
they have impressed themselves upon the instincts 
of animals. It is unnecessary to labour the point, 
that in broad outline certain general states of nature 
recur, and that our very natures have adapted 
themselves to such repetitions. 

But there is a complementary fact which is equally 
true and equally obvious:—nothing ever really 
recurs in exact detail. No two days are identical, 
no two winters. What has gone, has gone forever. 
Accordingly the practical philosophy of mankind 
has been to expect the broad recurrences, and to 
accept the details as emanating from the inscrutable 
womb of things beyond the ken of rationality. Men 
expected the sun to rise, but the wind bloweth where 
it listeth. 

Certainly from the classical Greek civilisation 
onwards there have been men, and indeed groups 
of men, who have placed themselves beyond this 
acceptance of an ultimate irrationality. Such men 
have endeavoured to explain all phenomena as the 
outcome of an order of things which extends to 
every detail. Geniuses such as Aristotle, or Archi- 
medes, or Roger Bacon, must have been endowed 
with the full scientific mentality, which instinctively 
holds that all things great and small are conceivable 
as exemplifications of general principles which reign 
throughout the natural order. 

But until the close of the Middle Ages the gen- 
eral educated public did not feel that intimate con- 
viction, and that detailed interest, in such an idea, 
so as to lead to an unceasing supply of men, with 


8 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


ability and opportunity adequate to maintain a 
coordinated search for the discovery of these hypo- 
thetical principles. Either people were doubtful 
about the existence of such principles, or were doubt- 
ful about any success in finding them, or took no 
interest in thinking about them, or were oblivious 
to their practical importance when found. For 
whatever reason, search was languid, if we have 
regard to the opportunities of a high civilisation 
and the length of time concerned. Why did the 
pace suddenly quicken in the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries? At the close of the Middle Ages 
a new mentality discloses itself. Invention stimu- 
lated thought, thought quickened physical specula- 
tion, Greek manuscripts disclosed what the ancients 
had discovered. Finally although in the year 1500 
Europe knew less than Archimedes who died in the 
year 212 B. C., yet in the year 1700, Newton’s 
Principia had been written and the world was well 
started on the modern epoch. 

There have been great civilisations in which the 
peculiar balance of mind required for science has 
only fitfully appeared and has produced the feeblest 
result. For example, the more we know of Chinese 
art, of Chinese literature, and of the Chinese phi- 
losophy of life, the more we admire the heights to 
which that civilisation attained. For thousands of 
years, there have been in China acute and learned 
men patiently devoting their lives to study. Having 
regard to the span of time, and to the population 
concerned, China forms the largest volume of civi- 
lisation which the world has seen. There is no 
reason to doubt the intrinsic capacity of individual 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 9 


Chinamen for the pursuit of science. And yet Chi- 
nese science is practically negligible. There is no 
reason to believe that China if left to itself would 
have ever produced any progress in science. The 
same may be said of India. Furthermore, if the 
Persians had enslaved the Greeks, there is no defi- 
nite ground for belief that science would have 
flourished in Europe. The Romans showed no par- 
ticular originality in that line. Even as it was, the 
Greeks, though they founded the movement, did 
not sustain it with the concentrated interest which 
modern Europe has shown. I am not alluding to 
the last few generations of the European peoples 
on both sides of the ocean; I mean the smaller 
Europe of the Reformation period, distracted as 
it was with wars and religious disputes. Consider 
the world of the eastern Mediterranean, from 
Sicily to western Asia, during the period of about 
1400 years from the death of Archimedes [in 
212 B. C.] to the irruption of the Tartars. There 
were wars and revolutions and large changes of 
religion: but nothing much worse than the wars of 
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries throughout 
Europe. There was a great and wealthy civilisa- 
tion, Pagan, Christian, Mahometan. In that period 
a great deal was added to science. But on the whole 
the progress was slow and wavering; and, except 
in mathematics, the men of the Renaissance prac- 
tically started from the position which Archimedes 
had reached. There had been some progress in 
medicine and some progress in astronomy. But the 
total advance was very little compared to the mar- 
vellous success of the seventeenth century. For 


10 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


example, compare the progress of scientific knowl- 
edge from the year 1560, just before the births of 
Galileo and of Kepler, up to the year 1700, when 
Newton was in the height of his fame, with the 
progress in the ancient period, already mentioned, 
exactly ten times as long. 

Nevertheless, Greece was the mother of Europe; 
and it is to Greece that we must look in order to 
find the origin of our modern ideas. We all know 
that on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean 
there was a very flourishing school of Ionian phi- 
losophers, deeply interested in theories concerning 
nature. Their ideas have been transmitted to us, 
enriched by the genius of Plato and Aristotle. But, 
with the exception of Aristotle, and it is a large 
exception, this school of thought had not attained 
to the complete scientific mentality. In some ways, 
it was better. The Greek genius was philosophical, 
lucid and logical. The men of this group were 
primarily asking philosophical questions. What is 
the substratum of nature? Is it fire, or earth, or 
water, or some combination of any two, or of all 
three? Or is it a mere flux, not reducible to some 
static material? Mathematics interested them 
mightily. [hey invented its generality, analysed 
its premises, and made notable discoveries of theo- 
rems by a rigid adherence to deductive reasoning. 
Their minds were infected with an eager generality. 
They demanded clear, bold ideas, and strict reason- 
ing from them. All this was excellent; it was 
genius; it was ideal preparatory work. But it was 
not science as we understand it. The patience of 
minute observation was not nearly so prominent. 


py. THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE li | 


Their genius was not so apt for the state of imagi- 
native muddled suspense which precedes successful 
inductive generalisation. ‘They were lucid thinkers 
and bold reasoners. 

Of course there were exceptions, and at the very 
top: for example, Aristotle and Archimedes. Also 
for patient observation, there were the astronomers. 
There was a mathematical lucidity about the stars, 
and a fascination about the small numerable band 
of run-a-way planets. 

Every philosophy is tinged with the colouring of 
some secret imaginative background, which never 
emerges explicitly into its trains of reasoning. ‘The 
Greek view of nature, at least that cosmology trans- 
mitted from them to later ages, was essentially dra- 
matic. It is not necessarily wrong for this reason: 
but it was overwhelmingly dramatic. It thus con- 
ceived nature as articulated in the way of a work 
of dramatic art, for the exemplification of general 
ideas converging to an end. Nature was differen- 
tiated so as to provide its proper end for each 
thing. There was the centre of the universe as the 
end of motion for those things which are heavy, and 
the celestial spheres as the end of motion for those 
things whose natures lead them upwards. The 
celestial spheres were for things which are impassi- 
ble and ingenerable, the lower regions for things 
passible and generable. Nature was a drama in 
which each thing played its part. 

I do not say that this is a view to which Aristotle 
would have subscribed without severe reservations, 
in fact without the sort of reservations which we 
ourselves would make. But it was the view which 


12 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


subsequent Greek thought extracted from Aristotle 
and passed on to the Middle Ages. The effect of 
such an imaginative setting for nature was to damp 
down the historical spirit. For it was the end which 
seemed illuminating, so why bother about the begin- 
ning? The Reformation and the scientific move- 
ment were two aspects of the historical revolt which 
was the dominant intellectual movement of the later 
Renaissance. ‘The appeal to the origins of Chris- 
tianity, and Francis Bacon’s appeal to efhcient causes 
as against final causes, were two sides of one move- 
ment of thought. Also for this reason Galileo and 
his adversaries were at hopeless cross purposes, as 
can be seen from his Dialogues on the Two Systems 
of the World. 

Galileo keeps harping on how things happen, 
whereas his adversaries had a complete theory as 
to why things happen. Unfortunately the two the- 
ories did not bring out the same results. Galileo 
insists upon ‘irreducible and stubborn facts,’ and 
Simplicius, his opponent, brings forward reasons, 
completely satisfactory, at least to himself. It is a 
great mistake to conceive this historical revolt as 
an appeal to reason. On the contrary, it was 
through and through an anti-intellectualist move- 
ment. It was the return to the contemplation of 
brute fact; and it was based on a recoil from the 
inflexible rationality of medieval thought. In mak- 
ing this statement [ am merely summarising what 
at the time the adherents of the old régime them- 
selves asserted. For example, in the fourth book 
of Father Paul Sarpi’s History of the Council of 
Trent, you will find that in the year 1551 the Papal 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 13 


Legates who presided over the Council ordered: 
‘That the Divines ought to confirm their opinions 
with the holy Scripture, Traditions of the Apostles, 
sacred and approved Councils, and by the, Consti- 
tutions and Authorities of the holy Fathers; that 
they ought to use brevity, and avoid superfluous 
and unprofitable questions, and perverse contentions. 
. . - Lhis order did not please the Italian Divines; 
who said it was a novity, and a condemning of 
School-Divinity, which, in all difficulties, useth 
reason, and because it was not lawful [i.e., by this 
decree | to treat as St. Thomas [ Aquinas], St. Bona- 
venture, and other famous men did.’ 

It is impossible not to feel sympathy with these 
Italian divines, maintaining the lost cause of 
unbridled rationalism. They were deserted on all 
hands. ‘he Protestants were in full revolt against 
them. ‘The Papacy failed to support them, and the 
Bishops of the Council could not even understand 
them. For a few sentences below the foregoing 
quotation, we read: ‘Though many complained 
here-of [i.e., of the Decree], yet it prevailed but 
little, because generally the Fathers [i.e., the 
Bishops | desired to hear men speak with intelligible 
terms, not abstrusely, as in the matter of Justifica- 
tion, and others already handled.’ 

Poor belated medievalists! When they used rea- 
son they were not even intelligible to the ruling 
powers of their epoch. It will take centuries before 
stubborn facts are reducible by reason, and mean- 
while the pendulum swings slowly and heavily to the 
extreme of the historical method. 

Forty-three years after the Italian divines had 


14 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


written this memorial, Richard Hooker in his 
famous Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity makes exactly 
the same complaint of his Puritan adversaries.’ 
Hooker’s balanced thought—from which the appel- 
lation “The Judicious Hooker’ is derived—and his 
diffuse style, which is the vehicle of such thought, 
make his writings singularly unfit for the process of 
summarising by a short, pointed quotation. But, in 
the section referred to, he reproaches his opponents 
with Their Disparagement of Reason; and in sup- 
port of his own position definitely refers to ‘The 
greatest amongst the school-divines’ by which desig- 
nation I presume that he refers to St. Thomas 
Aquinas. 

Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity was published just 
before Sarpi’s Council of Trent. Accordingly there 
was complete independence between the two works. 
But both the Italian divines of 1551, and Hooker at 
the end of that century testify to the anti-rationalist 
trend of thought at that epoch, and in this respect 
contrast their own age with the epoch of scholas- 
ticism. 

This reaction was undoubtedly a very necessary 
corrective to the unguarded rationalism of the 
Middle Ages. But reactions run to extremes. 
Accordingly, although one outcome of this reaction 
was the birth of modern science, yet we must remem- 
ber that science thereby inherited the bias of thought 
to which it owes its origin. 

The effect of Greek dramatic literature was many- 
sided so far as concerns the various ways in which 
it indirectly affected medieval thought. The pilgrim 


* Cf. Book III, Section viii. 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 15 


fathers of the scientific imagination as it exists 
today are the great tragedians of ancient Athens, 
Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides. Their vision of 
fate, remorseless and indifferent, urging a tragic 
incident to its inevitable issue, is the vision pos- 
sessed by science. Fate in Greek Tragedy becomes 
the order of nature in modern thought. The 
absorbing interest in the particular heroic incidents, 
as an example and a verification of the workings 
of fate, reappears in our epoch as concentration of 
interest on the crucial experiments. It was my good 
fortune to be present at the meeting of the Royal 
Society in London when the Astronomer Royal for 
England announced that the photographic plates 
of the famous eclipse, as measured by his colleagues 
in Greenwich Observatory, had verified the predic- 
tion of Einstein that rays of light are bent as they 
pass in the neighbourhood of the sun. The whole 
atmosphere of tense interest was exactly that of the 
Greek drama: we were the chorus commenting on 
the decree of destiny as disclosed in the develop- 
ment of a supreme incident. ‘There was dramatic 
quality in the very staging:—the traditional cere- 
monial, and in the background the picture of New- 
ton to remind us that the greatest of scientific 
generalisations was now, after more than two cen- 
turies, to receive its first modification. Nor was the 
personal interest wanting: a great adventure in 
thought had at length come safe to shore. 

Let me here remind you that the essence of dra- 
matic tragedy is not unhappiness. It resides in the 
solemnity of the remorseless working of things. 
This inevitableness of destiny can only be illustrated 


16 SCIENCE AND ‘THE MUDEKN WURKLD LCH. 


in terms of human life by incidents which in fact 
involve unhappiness. For it is only by them that 
the futility of escape can be made evident in the 
drama. ‘This remorseless inevitableness is what 
pervades scientific thought. The laws of physics 
are the decrees of fate. | << 

The conception of-the moral order in the Greek 
plays was certainly not a discovery of the dramatists. 
It must have passed into the literary tradition from 
the general serious opinion of the times. But in 
finding this magnificent expression, it thereby deep- 
ened the stream of thought from which it arose. 
The spectacle of a moral order was impressed upon 
the imagination of classical civilisation. 

The time came when that great society decayed, 
and Europe passed into the Middle Ages. The 
direct influence of Greek literature vanished. But 
the concept of the moral order and of the order of 
nature had enshrined itself in the Stoic philosophy. 
For example, Lecky in his History of European 
Morals tells us “Seneca maintains that the Divinity 
has determined all things by an inexorable law of 
destiny, which He has decreed, but which He Him- 
self obeys.’ But the most effective way in which 
the Stoics influenced the mentality of the Middle 
Ages was by the diffused sense of order which arose 
from Roman law. Again to quote Lecky, ‘The 
Roman legislation was in a twofold manner the 
child of philosophy. It was in the first place formed 
upon the philosophical model, for, instead of being 
a mere empirical system adjusted to the existing 
requirements of society, it laid down abstract prin- 
ciples of right to which it endeavoured to conform; 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 17 


and, in the next place, these principles were bor- 
rowed directly from Stoicism.’ In spite of the 
actual anarchy throughout large regions in Europe 
after the collapse of the Empire, the sense of legal 
order always haunted the racial memories of the 
Imperial populations. Also the Western Church 
was always there as a living embodiment of the tra- 
ditions of Imperial rule. 

It is important to notice that this legal impress 
upon medieval civilisation was not in the form of 
a few wise precepts which should permeate conduct. 
It was the conception of a definite articulated sys- 
tem which defines the legality of the detailed struc- 
ture of social organism, and of the detailed way in 
which it should function. There was nothing vague. 
It was not a question of admirable maxims, but of 
definite procedure to put things right and to keep 
them there. The Middle Ages formed one long 
training of the intellect of Western Europe in the 
sense of order. There may have been some 
deficiency in respect to practice. But the idea never 
for a moment lost its grip. It was preéminently 
an epoch of orderly thought, rationalist through 
and through. The very anarchy quickened the sense 
for coherent system; just as the modern anarchy 
of Europe has stimulated the intellectual vision of 
a League of Nations. 

But for science something more is wanted than 
a general sense of the order in things. It needs 
but a sentence to point out how the habit of definite 
exact thought was implanted in the European mind 
by the long dominance of scholastic logic and 
scholastic divinity. The habit remained after the 


18 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


philosophy had been repudiated, the priceless habit 
of looking for an exact point and of sticking to it 
when found. Galileo owes more to Aristotle than 
appears on the surface of his Dialogues: he owes 
to him his clear head and his analytic mind. 

I do not think, however, that I have even yet 
brought out the greatest contribution of medieval- 
ism to the formation of the scientific movement. 
I mean the inexpugnable belief that every detailed 
occurrence can be correlated with its antecedents in 
a perfectly definite manner, exemplifying general 
principles. Without this belief the incredible labours 
of scientists would be without hope. It is this 
instinctive conviction, vividly poised before the 
imagination, which is the motive power of research: 
—that there is a secret, a secret which can be 
unveiled. How has this conviction been so vividly 
implanted on the European mind? 

When we compare this tone of thought in Europe 
with the attitude of other civilisations when left to 
themselves, there seems but one source for its origin. 
It must come from the medieval insistence on the 
rationality of God, conceived as with the personal 
energy of Jehovah and with the rationality of a 
Greek philosopher. Every detail was supervised 
and ordered: the search into nature could only result 
in the vindication of the faith in rationality. Re- 
member that I am not talking of the explicit beliefs 
of a few individuals. What I mean is the impress 
on the European mind arising from the unquestioned — 
faith of centuries. By this I mean the instinctive 
tone of thought and not a mere creed of words. 

In Asia, the conceptions of God were of a being. 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 19 


who was either too arbitrary or too impersonal for 
such ideas to have much effect on instinctive habits 
of mind. Any definite occurrence might be due to 
the fiat of an irrational despot, or might issue from 
some impersonal, inscrutable origin of things. 
There was not the same confidence as in the intelli- 
gible rationality of a personal being. I am not 
arguing that the European trust in the scrutability 
of nature was logically justified even by its own the- 
ology. My only point is to understand how it arose. 
My explanation is that the faith in the possibility 
of science, generated antecedently to the develop- 
ment of modern scientific theory, is an unconscious 
derivative from medieval theology. 

But science is not merely the outcome of instinc- 
tive faith. It also requires an active interest in the 
simple occurrences of life for their own sake. 

This qualification ‘for their own sake’ is impor- 
tant. ‘The first phase of the Middle Ages was an 
age of symbolism. It was an age of vast ideas, and 
of primitive technique. There was little to be done 
with nature, except to coin a hard living from it. 
But there were realms of thought to be explored, 
realms of philosophy and realms of theology. Prim- 
itive art could symbolise those ideas which filled all 
thoughtful minds. ‘The first phase of medieval art 
has a haunting charm beyond compare: its own 
intrinsic quality is enhanced by the fact that its mes- 
sage, which stretched beyond art’s own self-justifica- 
tion of aesthetic achievement, was the symbolism 
of things lying behind nature itself. In this sym- 
bolic phase, medieval art energised in nature as its 
medium, but pointed to another world. 


20 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


In order to understand the contrast between 
these early Middle Ages and the atmosphere 
required by the scientific mentality, we should com- 
pare the sixth century in Italy with the sixteenth 
century. In both centuries the Italian genius was 
laying the foundations of anew epoch. The history 
of the three centuries preceding the earlier period, 
despite the promise for the future introduced by 
the rise of Christianity, is overwhelmingly infected 
by the sense of the decline of civilisation. In each 
generation something has been lost. As we read the 
records, we are haunted by the shadow of the com- 
ing barbarism. There are great men, with fine 
achievements in action or in thought. But their 
total effect is merely for some short time to arrest 
the general decline. In the sixth century we are, 
so far as Italy is concerned, at the lowest point of 
the curve. But in that century every action is laying 
the foundation for the tremendous rise of the new 
European civilisation. In the background the Byzan- 
tine Empire, under Justinian, in three ways deter- 
mined the character of the early Middle Ages in 
Western Europe. In the first place, its armies, 
under Belisarius and Narses, cleared Italy from the 
Gothic domination. In this way, the stage was freed 
for the exercise of the old Italian genius for creating 
organisations which shall be protective of ideals of 
cultural activity. It is impossible not to sympathise 
with the Goths: yet there can be no doubt but that 
a thousand years of the Papacy were infinitely more 
valuable for Europe than any effects derivable from 
a well-established Gothic kingdom of Italy. 

In the second place, the codification of the Roman 


I] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 21 


law established the ideal of legality which domi- 
nated the sociological thought of Europe in the suc- 
ceeding centuries. Law is both an engine for 
government, and a condition restraining govern- 
ment. The canon law of the Church, and the civil 
law of the State, owe to Justinian’s lawyers their 
influence on the development of Europe. ‘They 
established in the Western mind the ideal that an 
authority should be at once lawful, and law-enforcs 
ing, and should in itself exhibit a rationally adjusted 
system of organisation. The sixth century in Italy 
gave the initial exhibition of the way in which the 
impress of these ideas was fostered by contact with 
the Byzantine Empire. 

Thirdly, in the non-political spheres of art and 
learning Constantinople exhibited a standard of 
realised achievement which, parcly by the impulse to 
direct imitation, and partly by the indirect inspira- 
tion arising from the mere knowledge that such 
things existed, acted as a perpetual spur to Western 
culture. The wisdom of the Byzantines, as it stood 
in the imagination of the first phase of medieval 
mentality, and the wisdom of the Egyptians as it 
stood in the imagination of the early Greeks, played 
analogous roles. Probably the actual knowledge of 
these respective wisdoms was, in either case, about 
as much as was good for the recipients. They knew 
enough to know the sort of standards which are 
attainable, and not enough to be fettered by static 
and traditional ways of thought. Accordingly, in 
both cases men went ahead on their own and did 
better. No account of the rise of the European 
scientific mentality can omit some notice of this 


22 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


influence of the Byzantine civilisation in the back- 
ground. In the sixth century there is a crisis in the 
history of the relations between the Byzantines and 
the West; and this crisis is to be contrasted with the 
influence of Greek literature on European thought 
in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The two 
outstanding men, who in the Italy of the sixth cen- 
tury laid the foundations of the future, were St. 
Benedict and Gregory the Great. By reference to 
them, we can at once see how absolutely in ruins 
was the approach to the scientific mentality which 
had been attained by the Greeks. We are at the 
zero point of scientific temperature. But the life- 
work of Gregory and of Benedict contributed ele- 
ments to the reconstruction of Europe which secured 
that this reconstruction, when it arrived, should 
include a more effective scientific mentality than that 
of the ancient world. The Greeks were over-theo- 
retical. For them science was an offshoot of phi- 
losophy. Gregory and Benedict were practical men, 
with an eye for the importance of ordinary things; 
and they combined this practical temperament with 
their religious and cultural activities. In particular, 
we owe it to St. Benedict that the monasteries were 
the homes of practical agriculturalists, as well as of 
saints and of artists and men of learning. The alli- 
ance of science with technology, by which learning 
is kept in contact with irreducible and stubborn facts, 
owes much to the practical bent of the early Bene- 
dictines. Modern science derives from Rome as 
well as from Greece, and this Roman strain explains 
its gain in an energy of thought kept closely in con- 
tact with the world of facts. 


© 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 23 


But the influence of this contact between the mon- 
asteries and the facts of nature showed itself first 
in art. ‘The rise of Naturalism in the later Middle 
Ages was the entry into the European mind of the 
final ingredient necessary for the rise of science. 
It was the rise of interest in natural objects and in 
natural occurrences, for their own sakes. The nat- 
ural foliage of a district was sculptured in out-of- 
the-way spots of the later buildings, merely as exhib- 
iting delight in those familiar objects. ‘The whole 
atmosphere of every art exhibited a direct joy in 
the apprehension of the things which lie around us. 
The craftsmen who executed the late medieval dec- 
orative sculpture, Giotto, Chaucer, Wordsworth, 
Walt Whitman, and, at the present day, the New 
England poet Robert Frost, are all akin to each 
other in this respect. The simple immediate facts 
are the topics of interest, and these reappear in the 
thought of science as the ‘irreducible stubborn facts.’ 

The mind of Europe was now prepared for its 
new venture of thought. It is unnecessary to tell 
in detail the various incidents which marked the rise 
of science: the growth of wealth and leisure; the 
expansion of universities; the invention of printing; 
the taking of Constantinople; Copernicus; Vasco da 
Gama; Columbus; the telescope. ‘The soil, the cli- 
mate, the seeds, were there, and the forest grew. 
Science has never shaken off the impress of its ori- 
gin in the historical revolt of the later Renaissance. 
It has remained predominantly an anti-rationalistic 
movement, based upon a naive faith. What reason- 
ing it has wanted, has been borrowed from mathe- 
matics which is a surviving relic of Greek rational- 


24 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


ism, following the deductive method. Science 
repudiates philosophy. In other words, it has never 
cared to justify its faith or to explain its meanings; 
and has remained blandly indifferent to its refuta- 
tion by Hume. 

Of course the historical revolt was fully jus- 
tified. It was wanted. It was more than wanted: 
it was an absolute necessity for healthy progress. 
The world required centuries of contemplation of 
irreducible and stubborn facts. It is difficult for 
men to do more than one thing at a time, and that 
was the sort of thing they had to do after the 
rationalistic orgy of the Middle Ages. It was a very 
sensible reaction; but it was not a protest on behalf 
of reason. 

There is, however, a Nemesis which waits upon 
those who deliberately avoid avenues of knowledge. 
Oliver Cromwell’s cry echoes down the ages, ‘My 
brethren, by the bowels of Christ I beseech you, 
bethink you that you may be mistaken.’ 

The progress of science has now reached a turn- 
ing point. The stable foundations of physics have 
broken up: also for the first time physiology is 
asserting itself as an effective body of knowledge, 
as distinct from a scrap-heap. ‘The old foundations 
of scientific thought are becoming unintelligible. 
Time, space, matter, material, ether, electricity, 
mechanism, organism, configuration, structure, pat- 
tern, function, all require reinterpretation. What is 
the sense of talking about a mechanical explanation 
when you do not know what you mean by mechanics ? 

The truth is that science started its modern career 
by taking over ideas derived from the weakest side 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 25 


of the philosophies of Aristotle’s successors. In 
some respects it was a happy choice. It enabled the 
knowledge of the seventeenth century to be formu- 
larised so far as physics and chemistry were con- 
cerned, with a completeness which has lasted to the 
present time. But the progress of biology and 
psychology has probably been checked by the uncrit- 
ical assumption of half-truths. If science is not to 
degenerate into a medley of ad hoc hypotheses, it 
‘must become philosophical and must enter upon a 
thorough criticism of its own foundations. 

In the succeeding lectures of this course, I shall 
trace the successes and the failures of the particular 
conceptions of cosmology with which the European 
inteliect has clothed itself in the last three centuries. 
General climates of opinion persist for periods of 
about two to three generations, that is to say, for 
periods of sixty to a hundred years. ‘There are also 
shorter waves of thought, which play on the surface 
of the tidal movement. We shall find, therefore, 
transformations in the European outlook, slowly 
modifying the successive centuries. There persists, 
however, throughout the whole period the fixed 
scientific cosmology which presupposes the ultimate 
fact of an irreducible brute matter, or material, 
spread throughout space in a flux of configurations. 
In itself such a material is senseless, valueless, pur- 
poseless. It just does what it does do, following 
a fixed routine imposed by external relations which 
do not spring from the nature of its being. It is 
this assumption that I call ‘scientific materialism.’ 
Also it is an assumption which I shall challenge as 
being entirely unsuited to the scientific situation at 


26 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


which we have now arrived. It is not wrong, if 
properly construed. If we confine ourselves to cer- 
tain types of facts, abstracted from the complete 
circumstances in which they occur, the materialistic 
assumption expresses these facts to perfection. But 
when we pass beyond the abstraction, either by more 
subtle employment of our senses, or by the request 
for meanings and for coherence of thoughts, the 
scheme breaks down at once. The narrow efficiency 
of the scheme was the very cause of its supreme 
methodological success. For it directed attention to 
just those groups of facts which, in the state of 
knowledge then existing, required investigation. 
The success of the scheme has adversely affected 
the various currents of European thought. The his- 
torical revolt was anti-rationalistic, because the 
rationalism of the scholastics required a sharp cor- 
rection by contact with brute fact. But the revival 
of philosophy in the hands of Descartes and his 
successors was entirely coloured in its development 
by the acceptance of the scientific cosmology at its 
face value. The success of their ultimate ideas con- 
firmed scientists in their refusal to modify them 
as the result of an enquiry into their rationality. 
Every philosophy was bound in some way or other 
to swallow them whole. Also the example of sci- 
ence affected other regions of thought. ‘The histor- 
ical revolt has thus been exaggerated into the 
exclusion of philosophy from its proper roéle of har- 
monising the various abstractions of methodological 
thought. Thought is abstract; and the intolerant 
use of abstractions is the major vice of the intellect. 
This vice is not wholly corrected by the recurrence 


1] THE ORIGINS OF MODERN SCIENCE 27 


to concrete experience. For after all, you need only 
attend to those aspects of your concrete experience 
which lie within some limited scheme. ‘There are 
two methods for the purification of ideas. One of 
them is dispassionate observation by means of the 
bodily senses. But observation is selection. Accord- 
ingly, it is dificult to transcend a scheme of abstrac- 
tion whose success is sufficiently wide. The other 
method is by comparing the various schemes of 
abstraction which are well founded in our various 
types of experience. This comparison takes the 
form of satisfying the demands of the Italian schol- 
astic divines whom Paul Sarpi mentioned. They 
asked that reason should be used. Faith in reason 
is the trust that the ultimate natures of things lie 
together in a harmony which excludes mere arbi- 
trariness. It is the faith that at the base of things 
we shall not find mere arbitrary mystery. The faith 
in the order of nature which has made possible the 
growth of science is a particular example of a 
deeper faith. This faith cannot be justified by any 
inductive generalisation. It springs from direct 
inspection of the nature of things as disclosed in our 
own immediate present experience. There is no 
parting from your own shadow. To experience this 
faith is to know that in being ourselves we are 
more than ourselves: to know that our experience, 
dim and fragmentary as it is, yet sounds the utmost 
depths of reality: to know that detached details 
merely in order to be themselves demand that they 
should find themselves in a system of things: to know 
that this system includes the harmony of logical 
rationality, and the harmony of aesthetic achieve- 


28 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 1] 


ment: to know that, while the harmony of logic lies 
upon the universe as an iron necessity, the aesthetic 
harmony stands before it as a living ideal moulding 
the general flux in its broken progress towards finer, 
subtler issues. 


CHAPTER II 


MATHEMATICS AS AN ELEMENT IN THE HISTORY 
OF THOUGHT 


THE science of Pure Mathematics, in its modern 
developments, may claim to be the most original 
creation of the human spirit. Another claimant for 
this position is music. But we will put aside all 
rivals, and consider the ground on which such a 
claim can be made for mathematics. The original- 
ity of mathematics consists in the fact that in math- 
ematical science connections between things are 
exhibited which, apart from the agency of human 
reason, are extremely unobvious. Thus the ideas, 
now in the minds of contemporary mathematicians, 
lie very remote from any notions which can be imme- 


diately derived by perception through the senses; 


unless indeed it be perception stimulated and guided 
by antecedent mathematical knowledge. This is the 
thesis which I proceed to exemplify. 

Suppose we project our imagination backwards 
through many thousands of years, and endeavour 
to realise the simple-mindedness of even the great- 
est intellects in those early societies. Abstract ideas 
which to us are immediately obvious must have been, 
for them, matters only of the most dim apprehen- 
sion. For example take the question of number. 
We think of the number ‘five’ as applying to appro- 

29 


‘Sone, 


ox 


30 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


priate groups of any entities whatsoever—to five 
fishes, five children, five apples, five days. Thus in 
considering the relations of the number ‘five’ to the 
number ‘three,’ we are thinking of two groups of 
things, one with five members and the other with 
three members. But we are entirely abstracting 
from any consideration of any particular entities, 
or even of any particular sorts of entities, which 
go to make up the membership of either of the two 
groups. We are merely thinking of those relation- 
ships between those two groups which are entirely 
independent of the individual essences of any of 
the members of either group. This is a very 
remarkable feat of abstraction; and it must have 
taken ages for the human race to rise to it. During 
a long period, groups of fishes will have been com- 
pared to each other in respect to their multiplicity, 
and groups of days to each other. But the first 
man who noticed the analogy between a group of 
seven fishes and a group of seven days made a nota- 
ble advance in the history of thought. He was the 
first man who entertained a concept belonging to 
the science of pure mathematics. At that moment 
-it must have been impossible for him to divine the 
complexity and subtlety of these abstract mathe- 
matical ideas which were waiting for discovery. 
Nor could he have guessed that these notions would 
, exert a widespread fascination in each succeeding 
generation. ‘There is an erroneous literary tradi- 
tion which represents the love of mathematics as a 
monomania confined to a few eccentrics in each gen- 
eration. But be this as it may, it would have been 
impossible to anticipate the pleasure derivable from 


11] MATHEMATICS 31 


a type of abstract thinking which had no counterpart 
in the then-existing society. Thirdly, the tremen- 
dous future effect of mathematical knowledge on thie 
lives of men, on their daily avocations, on their 
habitual thoughts, on the organization of society, 
must have been even more completely shrouded 
from the foresight of those early thinkers. Even 
now there is a very wavering grasp of the true posi- 
tion of mathematics as an element in the history 
of thought. I will not go so far as to say that 
to construct a history of thought without profound 
study of the mathematical ideas of successive epochs 
is like omitting Hamlet from the play which is 
named after him. ‘That would be claiming too 
much. But it is certainly analogous to cutting out 
the part of Ophelia. ‘This simile is singularly exact. 
For Ophelia is quite essential to the play, she is 
very charming——and a little mad. Let us grant that 
the pursuit of mathematics is a divine madness of 
the human spirit, a refuge from the goading urgency 
of contingent happenings. 

When we think of mathematics, we have in our 
mind a science devoted to the exploration of num- 
ber, quantity, geometry, and in modern times also 
including investigation into yet more abstract con- 
cepts of order, and into analogous types of purely 
logical relations. The point of mathematics is that 
in it we have always got rid of the particular 
instance, and even of any particular sorts of entities. 
So that for example, no mathematical truths apply 
merely to fish, or merely to stones, or merely to 
colours. So long as you are dealing with pure math- 
ematics, you are in the realm of complete and abso- 


32 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


lute abstraction. All you assert is, that reason 
insists on the admission that, if any entities what- 
ever have any relations which satisfy such-and-such 
purely abstract conditions, then they must have 
other relations which satisfy other purely abstract 
conditions. 

Mathematics is thought moving in the sphere of 
complete abstraction from any particular instance 
of what it is talking about. So far is this view 
of mathematics from being obvious, that we can 
easily assure ourselves that it is not, even now, gen- 
erally understood. For example, it is habitually 
thought that the certainty of mathematics is a reason 
for the certainty of our geometrical knowledge of 
the space of the physical universe. This is a delu- 
sion which has vitiated much philosophy in the past, 
and some philosophy in the present. This question 
of geometry is a test case of some urgency. ‘There 
are certain alternative sets of purely abstract con- 
ditions possible for the relationship of groups of 
unspecified entities, which I will call geometrical 
conditions. I give them this:name because of their 
general analogy to those conditions, which we 
believe to hold respecting the particular geometrical 
relations of things observed by us in our direct per- 
ception of nature. So far as our observations are 
concerned, we are not quite accurate enough to be 
certain of the exact conditions regulating the things 
we come across in nature. But we can by a slight 
stretch of hypothesis identify these observed condi- 
tions with some one set of the purely abstract geo- 
metrical conditions. In doing so, we make a par- 
ticular determination of the group of unspecified 


1] MATHEMATICS 33 


entities which are the relata in the abstract science. 
In the pure mathematics of geometrical relation- 
ships, we say that, if any group tntities enjoy any 
relationships among its members satisfying this set 
of abstract geometrical conditions, then such-and- 
such additional abstract conditions must also hold 


for such relationships. But when we come to physi- 


cal space, we say that some definitely observed 
group of physical entities enjoys some definitely 
observed relationships among its members which do 
satisfy this above-mentioned set of abstract geomet- 
rical conditions. We thence conclude that the addi- 


tional relationships which we concluded to hold in- 


any such case, must therefore hold in this particular 
Caste 

The certainty of mathematics depends upon its 
complete abstract generality. But we can have no 
a priori certainty that we are right in believing that 
the observed entities in the concrete universe form 
a particular instance of what falls under our general 
reasoning. To take another example from arith- 
metic. It is a general abstract truth of pure math- 
ematics that any group of forty entities can be sub- 
divided into two groups of twenty entities. We 
are therefore justified in concluding that a particular 
group of apples which we believe to contain forty 
members can be subdivided into two groups of 
apples of which each contains twenty members. 
But there always remains the possibility that we 
have miscounted the big group; so that, when we 
come in practice to subdivide it, we shall find that 
one of the two heaps has an apple too few or an 
apple too many: 


er RRS 


— 


34 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH., 


Accordingly, in criticising an argument based 
upon the application of mathematics to particular 
matters of fact there are always three processes 
to be kept perfectly distinct in our minds. We 
must first scan the purely mathematical reasoning 
to make sure that there are no mere slips in it— 
no casual illogicalities due to mental failure. Any 
mathematician knows from bitter experience that, 
in first elaborating a train of reasoning, it is very 
easy to commit a slight error which yet makes all 
the difference. But when a piece of mathematics 
has been revised, and has been before the expert 
world for some time, the chance of a casual error 
is almost negligible. The next process is to make 


* quite certain of all the abstract conditions which 


have been presupposed to hold. This is the deter- 
mination of the abstract premises from which the 
mathematical reasoning proceeds. This is a matter 
of considerable difficulty. In the past quite remark- 
able oversights have been made, and have been 
accepted by generations of the greatest mathemati- 
cians. The chief danger is that of oversight, 
namely, tacitly to introduce some condition, which 
it is natural for us to presuppose, but which in fact 
need not always be holding. There is another oppo- 
site oversight in this connection which does not lead 
to error, but only to lack of simplification. It is 
very easy to think that more postulated conditions 
are required than is in fact the case. In other words, 
we may think that some abstract postulate is nec- 
essary which is in fact capable of being proved from 
the other postulates that we have already on hand. 
The only effects of this excess of abstract postulates 


iI] MATHEMATICS 35 


are to diminish our aesthetic pleasure in the mathe- 
matical reasoning, and to give us more trouble when 
we come to the third process of criticism. 

, This third process of criticism is that of verifying 
’ that our abstract postulates hold for the particular 
case in question. It is in respect to this process of 
verification for the particular case that all the 
trouble arises. In some simple instances, such as the 
counting of forty apples, we can with a little care 
arrive at practical certainty. But in general, with 
more complex instances, complete certainty is unat- 
tainable. Volumes, libraries of volumes, have been 
written on the subject. It is the battle ground of 
rival philosophers. ‘There are two distinct ques- 
tions involved. There are particular definite things 
observed, and we have to make sure that the rela- 
tions between these things really do obey certain 
definite exact abstract conditions. There is great 
room for error here. The exact observational 
methods of science are all contrivances for limiting 
these erroneous conclusions as to direct matters of 
fact. But another question arises. The things 
directly observed are, almost always, only samples. 
We want to conclude that the abstract conditions, 
which hold for the samples, also hold for all other 
entities which, for some reason or other, appear 
to us to be of the same sort. ‘This process of reason- 
ing from the sample to the whole species is Induc- 
tion. The theory of Induction is the despair of 
philosophy—and yet all our activities are based 
upon it. Anyhow, in criticising a mathematical con- 
clusion as to a particular matter of fact, the real 
difficulties consist in finding out the abstract assump- 


36 _ SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


tions involved, and in estimating the evidence for 
their applicability to the particular case in hand. 

It often happens, therefore, that in criticising a 
learned book of applied mathematics, or a memoir, 
one’s whole trouble is with the first chapter, or even 
with the first page. For it is there, at the very 
outset, where the author will probably be found to 
slip in his assumptions. Farther, the trouble is not 
with what the author does say, but with what he 
does not say. Also it is not with what he knows 
he has assumed, but with what he has unconsciously 
assumed. We do not doubt the author’s honesty. 
It is his perspicacity which we are criticising. Each 
generation criticises the unconscious assumptions 
made by its parents. It may assent to them, but 
it brings them out in the open. 

The history of the development of language illus- 
trates this point. It is a history of the progressive 
analysis of ideas. Latin and Greek were inflected 
languages. ‘This means that they express an unana- 
lysed complex of ideas by the mere modification of | 
a word; whereas in English, for example, we use 
prepositions and auxiliary verbs to drag into the 
open the whole bundle of ideas involved. For cer- 
tain forms of literary art—though not always— 
the compact absorption of auxiliary ideas into the 
main word may be an advantage. But in a language 
such as English there is the overwhelming gain in 
explicitness. This increased explicitness is a more 
complete exhibition of the various abstractions 
involved in the complex idea which is the meaning 
of the sentence. 

By comparison with language, we can now see — 


11] MATHEMATICS 37 


what is the function in thought which is performed 
by pure mathematics. It is a resolute attempt to go 
the whole way in the direction of complete analysis, 
so as to separate the elements of mere matter of 
fact from the purely abstract conditions which they 
exemplify. 

The habit of such analysis enlightens every act 
of the functioning of the human mind. It first (by 
isolating it) emphasizes the direct aesthetic appre- 
ciation of the content of experience. This direct 
appreciation means an apprehension of what this 
experience is in itself in its own particular essence, 
including its immediate concrete values. ‘This is a 
question of direct experience, dependent upon sensi- 
tive subtlety. There is then the abstraction of the 
particular entities involved, viewed in themselves, 
and as apart from that particular occasion of experi- 
ence in which we are then apprehending them. 
Lastly there is the further apprehension of the abso- 
lutely general conditions satisfied by the particular 
relations of those entities as in that experience. 
These conditions gain their generality from the fact 
that they are expressible without reference to those 
particular relations or to those particular relata 
which occur in that particular occasion of experi- 
ence. They are conditions which might hold for an 
indefinite variety of other occasions, involving other 
entities and other relations between them. Thus 
these conditions are perfectly general because they 
refer to no particular occasion, and to no particular 
entities (such as green, or blue, or trees) which 
enter into a variety of occasions, and to no particular 
relationships between such entities. 


~ 


38 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


There is, however, a limitation to be made to the 
generality of mathematics; it is a qualification which 
applies equally to all general statements. No state- 
ment, except one, can be made respecting any remote 
occasion which enters into no relationship with the 
immediate occasion so as to form a constitutive ele- 
ment of the essence of that immediate occasion. By 
the ‘immediate occasion’ I mean that occasion which 
involves as an ingredient the individual act of judg- 
ment in question. ‘The one excepted statement is: 
—If anything out of relationship, then complete 
ignorance as to it. Here by ‘ignorance,’ I mean 
ignorance; accordingly no advice can be given as to 
how to expect it, or to treat it, in ‘practice’ or in 
any other way. Either we know something of the 
remote occasion by the cognition which is itself an 
element of the immediate occasion, or we know 
nothing. Accordingly the full universe, disclosed 
for every variety of experience, is a universe in 
which every detail enters into its proper relation- 
ship with the immediate occasion. The generality 
of mathematics is the most complete generality con- 
sistent with the community of occasions which con- 
stitutes our metaphysical situation. 

. It is further to be noticed that the particular 
entities require these general conditions for their 
ingression into any occasions; but the same general 
conditions may be required by many types of par- 
ticular entities. This fact, that the general condi- 
tions transcend any one set of particular entities, is 
the ground for the entry into mathematics, and 
into mathematical logic, of the notion of the ‘varia- 
ble.’ It is by the employment of this notion that 


peers 


li] MATHEMATICS 39: 


general conditions are investigated without any 
specification of particular entities. ‘This irrelevance 
of the particular entities has not been generally 
understood: for example, the shape-iness of shapes, 
e.g., circularity and sphericity and cubicality as in 
actual experience, do not enter into the geometrical 
reasoning. 

The exercise of logical reason is always concerned 
with these absolutely general conditions. In its 


broadest sense, the discovery of mathematics is the 


discovery that the totality of these general abstract 
conditions, which are concurrently applicable to the 
relationships among the entities of any one concrete 
occasion, are themselves inter-connected in the man- 
ner of a pattern with a key toit. This pattern of 
relationships among general abstract conditions is 
imposed alike on external reality, and on our abstract 
representations of it, by the general necessity that 
every thing must be just its own individual self, 
with its own individual way of differing from every- 
thing else. ‘This is nothing else than the neces- 


- sity of abstract logic, which is the presupposition 


involved in the very fact of inter-related existence 
as disclosed in each immediate occasion of experi- 
ence. 

The key to the patterns means this fact:—that 
from a select set of those general conditions, exem- 
plified in any one and the same occasion, a pattern 
involving an infinite variety of other such conditions, 
also exemplified in the same occasion, can be devel- 
oped by the pure exercise of abstract logic. Any 
such select set is called the set of postulates, or 
premises, from which the reasoning proceeds. The 


40 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


“ reasoning is nothing else than the exhibition of the 
whole pattern of general conditions involved in the 
pattern derived from the selected postulates. 

_ The harmony of the logical reason, which divines 
the complete pattern as involved in the postulates, 
is the most general aesthetic property arising from 
the mere fact of concurrent existence in the unity of 
one occasion. Wherever there is a unity of occa- 
sion there is thereby established an aesthetic rela- 
tionship between the general conditions involved in 
that occasion. This aesthetic relationship is that 
which is divined in the exercise of rationality. 
Whatever falls within that relationship is thereby 
exemplified in that occasion, whatever falls without 
that relationship is thereby excluded from exempli- 
fication in that occasion. The complete pattern of 
general conditions, thus exemplified, is determined 
by any one of many select sets, of these conditions. 
These key sets are sets of equivalent postulates. 
This reasonable harmony of being, which is re- 
quired for the unity of a complex occasion, together 
with the completeness of the realisation (in that 
occasion) of all that is involved in its logical har- 
mony, is the primary article of metaphysical doc- 
trine. It means that for things to be together 
involves that they are reasonably together. This 
means that thought can penetrate into every occa- 
sion of fact, so that by comprehending its key 
conditions, the whole complex of its pattern of 
conditions lies open before it. It comes to this: 
—provided we know something which is perfectly 
general about the elements in any occasion, we 
can then know an indefinite number of other 


11) MATHEMATICS At 


equally general concepts which must also be exem- 
plified in that same occasion. The logical harmony 
involved in the unity of an occasion is both exclusive 
and inclusive. The occasion must exclude the inhar- 
monious, and it must include the harmonious. 
Pythagoras was the first man who had any grasp 
of the full sweep of this general principle. He lived 
in the sixth century before Christ. Our knowledge 
of him is fragmentary. But we know some points 
which establish his greatness in the history of 
thought. He insisted on the importance of the 
utmost generality in reasoning, and he divined the 
importance of number as an aid to the construction 
of any representation of the conditions involved in 
the order of nature. We know also that he studied 
geometry, and discovered the general proof of the 
remarkable theorem about right-angled triangles. 
The formation of the Pythagorean Brotherhood, 
and the mysterious rumours as to its rites and its 
influence, afford some evidence that Pythagoras 
divined, however dimly, the possible importance of 
mathematics in the formation of science. On the 
side of philosophy he started a discussion which has 
agitated thinkers ever since. He asked, ‘What is 
the status of mathematical entities, such as numbers 
for example, in the realm of things?’ ‘The number 
‘two, for example, is in some sense exempt from 
the flux of time and the necessity of position in 
space. Yet it is involved in the real world. The 
same considerations apply to geometrical notions— 
to circular shape, for example. Pythagoras is said 
to have taught that the mathematical entities, such 
as numbers and shapes, were the ultimate stuff out 


42 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [ch. 


of which the real entities of our perceptual experi- 
ence are constructed. As thus baldly stated, the idea 
seems crude, and indeed silly. But undoubtedly, he 
had hit upon a philosophical notion of considerable 
importance; a notion which has a long history, and 
which has moved the minds of men, and has even 
entered into Christian theology. About a thousand 
years separate the Athanasian Creed from Pythag- 
oras, and about two thousand four hundred years 
separate Pythagoras from Hegel. Yet for all these 
distances in time, the importance of definite number 
in the constitution of the Divine Nature, and the 
concept of the real world as exhibiting the evolution 
of an idea, can both be traced back to the train of 
thought set going by Pythagoras. 

The importance of an individual thinker owes 
something to chance. For it depends upon the fate 
of his ideas in the minds of his successors. In this 
respect Pythagoras was fortunate. His philosophi- 
cal speculations reach us through the mind of Plato. 
The Platonic world of ideas is the refined, revised 
form of the Pythagorean doctrine that number lies 
at the base of the real world. Owing to the Greek 
mode of representing numbers by patterns of dots, 
the notions of number and of geometrical configura- 
tion are less separated than with us. Also Pythag- 
oras, without doubt, included the shape-iness of 
shape, which is an impure mathematical entity. So 
to-day, when Einstein and his followers proclaim 
that physical facts, such as gravitation, are to be 
construed as exhibitions of local peculiarities of 
spatio-temporal properties, they are following the 
pure Pythagorean tradition. In a sense, Plato and 


11] MATHEMATICS 43 


Pythagoras stand nearer to modern physical science 
than does Aristotle. The two former were mathe- 
maticians, whereas Aristotle was the son of a doctor, 
though of course he was not thereby ignorant of 
mathematics. [he practical counsel to be derived 
from Pythagoras, is to measure, and thus to express 
quality in terms of numerically determined quan- 
tity. But the biological sciences, then and till our 
own time, have been overwhelmingly classificatory. 
Accordingly, Aristotle by his Logic throws the 
emphasis on classification. The popularity of Aris- 
totelian Logic retarded the advance of physical sci- 
ence throughout the Middle Ages. If only the 
schoolmen had measured instead of classifying, how © 
much they might have learnt! 

Classification is a halfway house between the 
immediate concreteness of the individual thing and 
the complete abstraction of mathematical notions. 
The species take account of the specific character, 
and the genera of the generic character. But in the 
procedure of relating mathematical notions to the 
facts of nature, by counting, by measurement, and 
by geometrical relations, and by types of order, the 
rational contemplation is lifted from the incomplete 
abstractions involved in definite species and genera, 
to the complete abstractions of mathematics. Classi- 
fication is necessary. But unless you can progress 
from classification to mathematics, your capa Ue 
will not take you very far. 

Between the epoch which stretches from Prehage 
oras to Plato and the epoch comprised in the seven- 
teenth century of the modern world nearly two 
thousand years elapsed. In this long interval math- 


, 


44 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cn. 


ematics had made immense strides. Geometry had 
gained the study of conic sections and trigonometry; 
the method of exhaustion had almost anticipated the 
integral calculus; and above all the Arabic arith- 
metical notation and algebra had been contributed 
by Asiatic thought. But the progress was on tech- 
nical lines. Mathematics, as a formative element 
in the development of philosophy, never, during this 
long period, recovered from its deposition at the 
hands of Aristotle. Some of the old ideas derived 
from the Pythagorean-Platonic epoch lingered on, 
and can be traced among the Platonic influences 
which shaped the first period of evolution of Chris- 
tian theology. But philosophy received no fresh 
inspiration from the steady advance of mathematical 
science. In the seventeenth century the influence of 
Aristotle was at its lowest, and mathematics recov- 
ered the importance of its earlier period. It was an 
age of great physicists and great philosophers; and 
the physicists and philosophers were alike mathema- 
ticians. [he exception of John Locke should be 
made; although he was greatly influenced by the 
Newtonian circle of the Royal Society. In the age 
of Galileo, Descartes, Spinoza, Newton, and Leib: 
niz, mathematics was an influence of the first magni- 
tude in the formation of philosophic ideas. But the 
mathematics, which now emerged into prominence, 
was a very different science from the mathematics 
of the earlier epoch. It had gained in generality, 
and had started upon its almost incredible modern 
career of piling subtlety of generalization upon sub- 
tlety of generalization; and of finding, with each 
growth of complexity, some new application, either 


< 


1] MATHEMATICS 45 


to physical science, or to philosophic thought. ‘The 
Arabic notation had equipped the science with 
almost perfect technical efficiency in the manipula- 
tion of numbers. This relief from a struggle with 
arithmetical details (as instanced, for example, in 
the Egyptian arithmetic of B. C. 1600) gave room 
for a development which had already been faintly 
anticipated in later Greek mathematics. Algebra 
now came upon the scene, and algebra is a generali- 
sation of arithmetic. In the same way as the notion 
of number abstracted from reference to any one 
particular set of entities, so in algebra abstraction 
is made from the notion of any particular numbers. 
Just as the number ‘5’ refers impartially to any 
group of five entities, so in algebra the letters are 
used to refer impartially to any number, with the 
proviso that each letter is to refer to the same num- 
ber throughout the same context of its employment. 

This usage was first employed in equations, which- 
are methods of asking complicated arithmetical ques- ° 
tions. In this connection, the letters representing ° 
numbers were termed ‘unknowns.’ But equations ° 
soon suggested a new idea, that, namely, of a func-’ 
tion of one or more general symbols, these symbols 
being letters representing any numbers. In this 
employment the algebraic letters are called the 
‘arguments’ of the function, or sometimes they are 
called the ‘variables. ‘Then, for instance, if an 
angle is represented by an algebraical letter, as 
standing for its numerical measure in terms of a 
given unit, Trigonometry is absorbed into this new 
algebra. Algebra thus develops into the general 
science of analysis in which we consider the prop- 


46 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


erties of various functions of undetermined argu- 
ments. Finally the particular functions, such as the 
trigonometrical functions, and the logarithmic func- 
tions, and the algebraic functions, are generalised 
into the idea of ‘any function.’ ‘Too large a gener- 
alisation leads to mere barrenness. It is the large 
generalisation, limited by a happy particularity, 
which is the fruitful conception. For instance the 
idea of any continuous function, whereby the limi- 
tation of continuity is introduced, is the fruitful 
idea which has led to most of the important appli- 
cations. This rise of algebraic analysis was con- 
current with Descartes’ discovery of analytical geom- 
etry, and then with the invention of the infinitesimal 
calculus by Newton and Leibniz. Truly, Pythag- 
oras, if he could have foreseen the issue of the train 
of thought which he had set going would have felt 
himself fully justified in his brotherhood with its 
excitement of mysterious rites. 
/ ‘he point which I now want to make is that this 
dominance of the idea of functionality in the abstract 
sphere of mathematics found itself reflected in the 
order of nature under the guise of mathematically 
expressed laws of nature. Apart from this progress 
of mathematics, the seventeenth century develop- 
ments of science would have been impossible. Math- 
ematics supplied the background of imaginative 
thought with which the men of science approached 
the observation of nature. Galileo produced form- 
ulae, Descartes produced formulae, Huyghens pro- 
duced formulae, Newton produced formulae. 

As a particular example of the effect of the 
abstract development of mathematics upon the sci- 


ur] MATHEMATICS 47 


ence of those times, consider the notion of periodic- 
ity. The general recurrences of things are very 
obvious in our ordinary experience. Days recur, 
lunar phases recur, the seasons of the year recur, 
rotating bodies recur to their old positions, beats 
of the heart recur, breathing recurs. On every side, 
we are met by recurrence. Apart from recurrence, 
knowledge would be impossible; for nothing could 
be referred to our past experience. Also, apart 
from some regularity of recurrence, measurement 
would be impossible. In our experience, as we gain 
the idéa of exactness, recurrence is fundamental. 
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the 
theory of periodicity took a fundamental place in 
science. Kepler divined a law connecting the major 
axes of the planetary orbits with the periods in 
which the planets respectively described their orbits: 
Galileo observed the periodic vibrations of pendu- 
lums: Newton explained sound as being due to the 
disturbance of air by the passage through it of 
periodic waves of condensation and rarefaction: 
Fluyghens explained light as being due to the trans- 
verse waves of vibration of a subtle ether: Mer- 
senne connected the period of the vibration of a 
violin string with its density, tension, and length. 
Whe birth of modern physics depended upon the 
application of the abstract idea of periodicity to a 
variety of concrete instances. But this would have 
been impossible, unless mathematicians had already 
worked out in the abstract the various abstract 
ideas which cluster round the notions of periodicity. 
The science of trigonometry arose from that of the 
relations of the angles of a right-angled triangle, 


48 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


to the ratios between the sides and hypotenuse of 
the triangle. Then, under the influence of the 
newly discovered mathematical science of the anal- 
ysis of functions, it broadened out into the study 
of the simple abstract periodic functions which these 
ratios exemplify. Thus trigonometry became com. 
pletely abstract; and in thus becoming abstract, it 
became useful. It illuminated the underlying anal- 
ogy between sets of utterly diverse physical phenom- 
ena; and at the same time it supplied the weapons 
by which any one such set could have its various 
features analysed and related to each other.* 

Nothing is more impressive than the fact that as 
mathematics withdrew increasingly into the upper 
regions of ever greater extremes of abstract thought, 
it returned back to earth with a corresponding 
growth of importance for the analysis of concrete 
fact. The history of the seventeenth century science 
reads as though it were some vivid dream of Plato 
or Pythagoras. In this characteristic the seven- 
teenth century was only the forerunner of its suc- 
cessors. 

The paradox is now fully established that the 
utmost abstractions are the true weapons with which 
to control our thought of concrete fact. As the 
result of the prominence of mathematicians in the 
seventeenth century, the eighteenth century was 
mathematically minded, more especially where 
French influence predominated. An exception must 
be made of the English empiricism derived from 


* For a more detailed consideration of the nature and function 
of pure mathematics cf. my Introduction to Mathematics, Home 
University Library, Williams and Norgate, London. 


1] MATHEMATICS 49 


Locke. Outside France, Newton’s direct influence 
on philosophy is best seen in Kant, and not in Hume. 
In the nineteenth century, the general influence 
of mathematics waned. The romantic movement 
in literature, and the idealistic movement in phi- 
losophy were not the products of mathematical 
minds. Also, even in science, the growth of geology, 
of zoology, and of the biological sciences generally, 
was in each case entirely disconnected from any ref- 
erence to mathematics. The chief scientific excite- 
ment of the century was the Darwinian theory of 
evolution. Accordingly, mathematicians were in the 
background so far as the general thought of that 
age was concerned. But this does not mean that 
mathematics was being neglected, or even that it was 
uninfluential. During the nineteenth century pure 
mathematics made almost as much progress as dur- 
ing all the preceding centuries from Pythagoras 
onwards. Of course progress was easier, because 
the technique had been perfected. But allowing for 
that, the change in mathematics between the years 
1800 and 1900 is very remarkable. If we add in 
the previous hundred years, and take the two cen- 
turies preceding the present time, one is almost 
tempted to date the foundation of mathematics 
somewhere in the last quarter of the seventeenth 
century. he period of the discovery of the ele- 
ments stretches from Pythagoras to Descartes, 
Newton, and Leibniz, and the developed science 
has been created during the last two hundred and 
fifty years. This is not a boast as to the superior 
genius of the modern world; for it is harder to dis- 
cover the elements than to develon the science. 


a 


, 


50 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


Throughout the nineteenth century, the influence 
of the science was its influence on dynamics and 
physics, and thence derivatively on engineering and 
chemistry. It is dificult to overrate its indirect 
influence on human life through the medium of these 
sciences. But there was no direct influence of mathe- 
matics upon the general thought of the age. 

In reviewing this rapid sketch of the influence 
of mathematics throughout European history, we 
see that it had two great periods of direct influence 
upon general thought, both periods lasting for about 
two hundred years. The first period was that 
stretching from Pythagoras to Plato, when the pos. 
sibility of the science, and its general character, first 
dawned upon the Grecian thinkers. ‘The second 
period comprised the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries of our modern epoch. Both periods had 

jcertain common characteristics. In the earlier, as 


‘in the later period, the general categories of thought 


in many spheres of human interest, were in a state 
of disintegration. In the age of Pythagoras, the 
unconscious Paganism, with its traditional clothing 
of beautiful ritual and of magical rites, was passing 
into a new phase under two influences. [here were 
waves of religious enthusiasm, seeking direct enlight- 
enment into the secret depths of being; and at the 
opposite pole, there was the awakening of critical 
analytical thought, probing with cool dispassionate- 
ness into ultimate meanings. In both influences, so 
diverse in their outcome, there was one common 
element—an awakened curiosity, and a movement 
towards the reconstruction of traditional ways. 
The pagan mysteries may be compared to the Puri- 


it] MATHEMATICS 51 


tan reaction and to the Catholic reaction; critical 
scientific interest was alike in both epochs, though 
with minor differences of substantial importance. 
In each age, the earlier stages were placed in 
periods of rising prosperity, and of new opportuni- 
ties. In this respect, they differed from the period 
of gradual declension in the second and third cen- 
turies when Christianity was advancing to the con- 
quest of the Roman world. It is only in a period, 
fortunate both in its opportunities for disengage- 
ment from the immediate pressure of circumstances, 
and in its eager curiosity, that the Age-Spirit can 
undertake any direct revision of those final abstrac- 
tions which lie hidden in the more concrete concepts 
from which the serious thought of an age takes its 
start. In the rare periods when this task can be 
undertaken, mathematics becomes relevant to phil- 


osophy. For mathematics is the science of the most | | 
complete abstractions to which the human mind can | 


attain. 

The parallel between the two epochs must not be 
pressed too far. The modern world is larger and 
more complex than the ancient civilisation round 
the shores of the Mediterranean, or even than that 
of the Europe which sent Columbus and the Pilgrim 


Fathers across the ocean. We cannot now explain / 


our age by some simple formula which becomes 
dominant and will then be laid to rest for a thou- 


ee 


sand years. Thus the temporary submergence of 


the mathematical mentality from the time of Rous- 
seau onwards appears already to be at anend. We 
are entering upon an age of reconstruction, in reli- 
gion, in science, and in political thought. Such ages, 


gl ¥- SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


if they are to avoid mere ignorant oscillation be- 

tween extremes, must seek truth in its ultimate 
~~ depths. There can be no vision of this depth of 
truth apart from a philosophy which takes full 
account of those ultimate abstractions, whose inter- 
connections it is the business of mathematics to 
explore. 
In order to explain exactly how mathematics is 
gaining in general importance at the present time, 
let us start from a particular scientific perplexity 
and consider the notions to which we are naturally 
led by some attempt to unravel its difficulties. At 
present physics is troubled by the quantum theory. 
I need not now explain * what this theory is, to those 
who are not already familiar with it. But the point 
is that one of the most hopeful lines of explanation 
is to assume that an electron does not continuously 
traverse its path in space. The alternative notion 
as to its mode of existence is that it appears at a 
series of discrete positions in space which it occupies 
for successive durations of time. It is as though 
an automobile, moving at the average rate of thirty 
miles an hour along a road, did not traverse the 
road continuously; but appeared successively at the 
successive milestones, remaining for two minutes at 
each milestone. 

{n the first place there is required the purely 
technical use of mathematics to determine whether 
this conception does in fact explain the many per- 
plexing characteristics of the quantum theory. If 
the notion survives this test, undoubtedly physics 
wili adopt it. So far the question is purely one for 

*Cf..Chapter VIII, 


naman 


1] MATHEMATICS 53 


mathematics and physical science to settle between 
them, on the basis of mathematical calculations and 
physical observations. ; 

But now a problem is handed over to the philoso. 
phers. This discontinuous existence in space, thus 
assigned to electrons, is very unlike the continuous 
existence of material entities which we habitually 
assume as obvious. ‘The electron seems to be bor: 
rowing the character which some people have as- 
signed to the Mahatmas of Tibet. These electrons, 
with the correlative protons, are now conceived as 
being the fundamental entities out of which the 
material bodies of ordinary experience are com- 
posed. Accordingly if this explanation is allowed, 
we have to revise all our notions of the ultimate 
character of material existence. For when we 
penetrate to these final entities, this startling 
discontinuity of spatial existence discloses itself. 

There is no difficulty in explaining the paradox, 
if we consent to apply to the apparently steady un- 
differentiated endurance of matter the same prin- 
ciples as those now accepted for sound and light. A 
steadily sounding note is explained as the outcome of 
vibrations in the air: a steady colour is explained 
as the outcome of vibrations in ether. If we explain 
the steady endurance of matter on the same prin- 

\ Ciple, we shall conceive each primordial element as 
_a vibratory ebb and flow of an underlying energy, 
_or activity. Suppose we keep to the physical idea- 
of energy: then each primordial element will be an 
organised system of vibratory streaming of energy. 
Accordingly there will be a definite period asso- 
ciated with each element; and within that period the 


54 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


stream-system will sway from one stationary maxi- 
mum to another stationary maximum—or, taking 
a metaphor from the ocean tides, the system will 
sway from one high tide to another high tide. This 
system, forming the primordial element, is nothing 
at any instant. It requires its whole period in which 
to manifest itself. In an analogous way, a note of 
music is nothing at an instant, but it also requires 
its whole period in which to manifest itself. 

Accordingly, in asking where the primordial ele- 
ment is, we must settle on its average position at. 
the centre of each period. If we divide time into 
smaller elements, the vibratory system as one elec- 
tronic entity has no existence. The path in space of 
such a vibratory entity—where the entity is con- 
stituted by the vibrations—must be represented by 
a series of detached positions in space, analogously 
to the automobile which is found at successive 
milestones and at nowhere between. 

We first must ask whether there is any evidence 
to associate the quantum theory with vibration. 
This question is immediately answered in the afirm- 
ative. The whole theory centres round the radiant 
energy from an atom, and is intimately associated 
with the periods of the radiant wave-systems. It 
seems, therefore, that the hypothesis of essentially 
vibratory existence is the most hopeful way of 
explaining the paradox of the discontinuous orbit. 

In the second place, a new problem is now placed 
before philosophers and physicists, if we entertain 
the hypothesis that the ultimate elements of matter 
are in their essence vibratory. By this I mean that 
apart from being a periodic system, such an element 


11] MATHEMATICS 55 


would have no existence. With this hypothesis we 
have to ask, what are the ingredients which form 
the vibratory organism. We have already got rid 
of the matter with its appearance of undifferentiated 
endurance. Apart from some metaphysical com- 
pulsion, there is no reason to provide another more 
subtle stuff to take the place of the matter which 
has just been explained away. ‘The field is now open 
for the introduction of some new doctrine of organ- 
ism which may take the place of the materialism with 
which, since the seventeenth century, science has 
saddled philosophy. It must be remembered that 
the physicists’ energy is obviously an abstraction. 
The concrete fact, which is the organism, must be 
a complete expression of the character of a real 
occurrence. Such a displacement of scientific mater- 
ialism, if it ever takes place, cannot fail to have 
important consequences in every field of thought. 

Finally, our last reflection must be, that we have 
in the end come back to a version of the doctrine of 
old Pythagoras, from whom mathematics, and 
nathematical physics, took their rise. He discoy- 
ered the importance of dealing with abstractions; 
and in particular directed attention to number as 
characterising the periodicities of notes of music. 
The importance of the abstract idea of periodicity 
was thus present at the very beginning both of 
mathematics and of European philosophy. 

In the seventeenth century, the birth of modern 
science required a new mathematics, more fully 
equipped for the purpose of analysing the charac- 
teristics of vibratory existence. And now in the 
twentieth century we tind physicists largely engaged 


aA of 
ee a UN: J 
56 SCIENCE AND THB ODERN WORLD Aca it] 
in analysing the periodicities of atoms. Truly, 
Pythagoras in founding European philosophy and 
European mathematics, endowed them with the 
luckiest of lucky guesses—or, was it a flash of divine 
genius, penetrating to the inmost nature of things? 


b 


4 


x 


CHAPTER IIi 
THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 


THE previous chapters were devoted to the ante- 
cedent conditions which prepared the soil for the 
scientific outburst of the seventeenth century. They 
traced the various elements of thought and instinct- 
ive belief, from their first eflorescence in the classical 
civilisation of the ancient world, through the trans- 
formations which they underwent in the Middle 
Ages, up to the historical revolt of the sixteenth 
century. Three main factors arrested attention— 
the rise of mathematics, the instinctive belief in a 
detailed order of nature, and the unbridled ration- 
alism of the thought of the later Middle Ages. By 
this rationalism I mean the belief that the avenue to 
truth was predominantly through a metaphysical 
analysis of the nature of things, which would thereby 
determine how things acted and functioned. The 
historical revolt was the definite abandonment of 
this method in favour of the study of the empirical 
facts of antecedents and consequences. In religion, 
it meant the appeal to the origins of Christianity; 
and in science it meant the appeal to experiment and 
the inductive method of reasoning. 

A brief, and sufficiently accurate, description of 
the intellectual life of the European races during 
the succeeding two centuries and a quarter up to our 

57 


53 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


own times is that they have been living upon the 
accumulated capital of ideas provided for them by 
the genius of the seventeenth century. The men of 
this epoch inherited a ferment of ideas attendant 
upon the historical revolt of the sixteenth century, 
and they bequeathed formed systems of thought 
touching every aspect of human life. It is the one 
century which consistently, and throughout the whole 
range of human activities, provided intellectual 
genius adequate for the greatness of,its occasions. 
The crowded stage of this hundred years is indicated 
by the coincidences which mark its literary annals. 
At its dawn Bacon’s Advancement of Learning and 
Cervantes’ Don Quixote were published in the same 
year (1605), as though the epoch would introduce 
itself with a forward and a backward glance. The 
first quarto edition of Hamlet appeared in the pre- 
ceding year, and a slightly variant edition in the 
same year. Finally Shakespeare and Cervantes 
died on the same day, April 23, 1616. In the spring 
of this same year Harvey is believed to have first 
expounded his theory of the circulation of the blood 
in a course of lectures before the College of Physi- 
cians in London. Newton was born in the year that 
Galileo died (1642), exactly one hundred years 
after the publication of Copernicus’ De Revolu- 
tionibus. One year earlier Descartes published his 
Meditationes and two years later his Principia 
Philosophiae. ‘There simply was not time for the 
century to space out nicely its notable events 
concerning men of genius. 

I cannot now enter upon a chronicle of the various 
stages of intellectual advance included within this 


1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 59 


epoch. It is too large a topic for one lecture, and 
would obscure the ideas which it is my purpose to 
develop. A mere rough catalogue of some names 
will be sufficient, names of men who published to 
the world important work within these limits of 
time: Francis Bacon, Harvey, Kepler, Galileo, 
Descartes, Pascal, Huyghens, Boyle, Newton, 
Locke, Spinoza, Leibniz. I have limited the list to 
the sacred number of twelve, a number much too 
small to be properly representative. For example, 
there is only one Italian there, whereas Italy could 
have filled the list from its own ranks. Again 
Harvey is the only biologist, and also there are too 
many Englishmen. ‘This latter defect is partly due 
to the fact that the lecturer is English, and that he 
is lecturing to an audience which, equally with him, 
owns this English century. If he had been Dutch, 
there would have been too many Dutchmen;- if 
Italian, too many Italians; and if French, too many 
Frenchmen. The unhappy Thirty Years’ War was 
devastating Germany; but every other country looks 
back to this century as an epoch which witnessed 
some culmination of its genius. Certainly this was 
a great period of English thought; as at a later time 
Voltaire impressed upon France. 

The omission of physiologists, other than Har- 
vey, also requires explanation. [here were, of 
course, great advances in biology within the century, 
chiefly associated with Italy and the University of 
Padua. But my purpose is to trace the philosophic 
outlook, derived from science and presupposed by 
science, and to estimate some of its effects on the 
general climate of each age. Now the scientific 


60 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cn. 


philosophy of this age was dominated by physics; 
so as to be the most obvious rendering, in terms of 
general ideas, of the state of physical knowledge of 
that age and of the two succeeding centuries. As a 
matter of fact, these concepts are very unsuited to 
biology; and set for it an insoluble problem of mat- 
ter and life and organism, with which biologists are 
now wrestling. But the science of living organisms 
is only now coming to a growth adequate to impress 
its conceptions upon philosophy. The last half cen- 
tury before the present time has witnessed unsuccess- 
ful attempts to impress biological notions upon the 
materialism of the seventeenth century. However 
this success be estimated, it is certain that the root 
ideas of the seventeenth century were derived from 
the school of thought which produced Galileo, Huy- 
ghens and Newton, and not from the physiologists 
of Padua. One unsolved problem of thought, so 
far as it derives from this period, is to be formulated 
thus: Given configurations of matter with locomo- 
tion in space as assigned by physical laws, to account 
for living organisms. 

My discussion of the epoch will be best intro- 
duced by a quotation from Francis Bacon, which 
forms the opening of Section (or ‘Century’) IX of 
his Natural History, I mean his Silva Silvarum. We 
are told in the contemporary memoir by his chaplain, 
Dr. Rawley, that this work was composed in thé 
last five years of his life, so it must be dated between 
1620 and 1626. ‘The quotation runs thus: 

‘It is certain that all bodies whatsoever, though 
they have no sense, yet they have perception; for 
when one body is applied to another. there is a kind 


m1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 61 


of election to embrace that which is agreeable, and 
to exclude or expel that which is ingrate; and 
whether the body be alterant or altered, evermore 
a perception precedeth operation; for else all bodies 
would be like one to another. And sometimes this 
perception, in some kind of bodies, is far more 
subtile than sense; so that sense is but a dull thing in 
comparison of it: we see a weatherglass will find the 
least difference of the weather in heat or cold, when 
we find it not. And this perception is sometimes at 
a distance, as well as upon the touch; as when the 
loadstone draweth iron; or flame naphtha of Baby- 
lon, a great distance off. It is therefore a subject 
of a very noble enquiry, to enquire of the more sub- 
tile perceptions; for it is another key to open nature, 
as well as the sense; and sometimes better. And 
besides, it is a principal means of natural divina- 
tion; for that which in these perceptions appeareth 
early, in the great effects cometh long after.’ 
There are a great many points of interest about 
this quotation, some of which will emerge into 
importance in succeeding lectures. In the first place, 
note the careful way in which Bacon discriminates 
between perception, or taking account of, on the one 
hand, and sense, or cognitive experience, on the 
other hand. In this respect Bacon is outside the 
physical line of thought which finally dominated the 
century. Later on, people thought of passive matter 
which was operated on externally by forces. I be- 
lieve Bacon’s line of thought to have expressed a 
more fundamental truth than do the materialistic 
concepts which were then being shaped as adequate 
for physics. We are now so used to the material- 


62 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


istic way of looking at things, which has been rooted 
in our literature by the genius of the seventeenth 
century, that it is with some difficulty that we under- 
stand the possibility of another mode of approach 
to the problems of nature. 

In the particular instance of the quotation which 
I have just made, the whole passage and the context 
in which it is embedded, are permeated through and 
through by the experimental method, that is to say, 
by attention to ‘irreducible and stubborn facts’, and 
by the inductive method of eliciting general laws. 
Another unsolved problem which has been be- 
queathed to us by the seventeenth century is the 
rational justification of this method of Induction. 
The explicit realisation of the antithesis between 
the deductive rationalism of the scholastics and the 
inductive observational methods of the moderns 
must chiefly be ascribed to Bacon; though, of course, 
it was implicit in the mind of Galileo and of all the 
men of science of those times. But Bacon was one 
of the earliest of the whole group, and also had the 
most direct apprehension of the full extent of the 
intellectual revolution which was in progress. Per- 
haps the man who most completely anticipated both 
Bacon and the whole modern point of view was the 
artist Leonardo Da Vinci, who lived almost exactly 
a century before Bacon. Leonardo also illustrated 
the theory which I was advancing in my last lecture, 
that the rise of naturalistic art was an important 
ingredient in the formation of our scientific mental- 
ity. Indeed, Leonardo was more completely a man 
of science than was Bacon. The practice of natur- 
alistic art is more akin to the practice of physics, 


1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 63 


chemistry and biology than is the practice of law. 
We all remember the saying of Bacon’s contempo- 
rary, Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of 
the blood, that Bacon ‘wrote of science like a Lord 
Chancellor.’ But at the beginning of the modern 
period Da Vinci and Bacon stand together as illus- 
trating the various strains which have combined to 
form the modern world, namely, legal mentality and 
the patient observational habits of the naturalistic 
artists. 

In the passage which I have quoted from Bacon’s 
writings there is no explicit mention of the method 
of inductive reasoning. It is unnecessary for me to 
prove to you by any quotations that the enforcement 
of the importance of this method, and of the impor- 
tance, to the welfare of mankind, of the secrets of 
nature to be thus discovered, was one of the main 
themes to which Bacon devoted himself in his writ- 
ings. Induction has proved to be a somewhat more 
complex process than Bacon anticipated. He had in 
his mind the belief that with a sufficient care in the 
collection of instances the general law would stand 
out of itself. We know now, and probably Harvey 
knew then, that this is a very inadequate account of 
the processes which issue in scientific generalisations. 
But when you have made all the requisite deductions, 
Bacon remains as one of the great builders who con- 
structed the mind of the modern world. 

The special difficulties raised by induction emerged 
in the eighteenth century, as the result of Hume's 
criticism. But Bacon was one of the prophets of 
the historical revolt, which deserted the method of 
unrelieved rationalism, and rushed into the other 


64 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


extreme of basing all fruitful knowledge upon infer- 
ence from particular occasions in the past to par- 
ticular occasions in the future. I do not wish to 
throw any doubt upon the validity of induction, 
when it has been properly guarded. My point is, 
that the very baffling task of applying reason to elicit 
the general characteristics of the immediate occa- 
sion, as set before us in direct cognition, is a neces- 
sary preliminary, if we are to justify induction; 
unless indeed we are content to base it upon our 
vague instinct that of course it is all right. Either 
there is something about the immediate occasion 
which affords knowledge of the past and the future, 
or we are reduced to utter scepticism as to memory 
and induction. It is impossible to over-emphasise 
the point that the key to the process of induction, 
as used either in science or in our ordinary life, is 
to be found in the right understanding of the imme- 
diate occasion of knowledge in its full concreteness. 
It is in respect to our grasp of the character of these 
occasions in their concreteness that the modern devel- 
opments of physiology and of psychology are of 
critical importance. I shall illustrate this point in 
my subsequent lectures. We find ourselves amid 
insoluble difficulties when we substitute for this con- 
crete occasion a mere abstract in which we only con- 
sider material objects in a flux of configurations in 
time and space. It is quite obvious that such objects 
can tell us only that they are where they are. 
Accordingly, we must recur to the method of the 
school-divinity as explained by the Italian medie- 
valists whom I quoted in the first lecture. We must 
observe the immediate occasion, and use reason to 


1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 65 


elicit a general description of its nature. Induction 
presupposes metaphysics. In other words, it rests 
upon an antecedent rationalism. You cannot have a 
rational justification for your appeal to history till 
your metaphysics has assured you that there 7s a his- 
tory to appeal to; and likewise your conjectures as to 
the future presuppose some basis of knowledge that 
there is a future already subjected to some deter- 
minations. The difficulty is to make sense of either 
of these ideas. But unless you have done so, you 
have made nonsense of induction. 

You will observe that I do not hold Induction to 
be in its essence the derivation of general laws. It 
is the divination of some characteristics of a partic- 
ular future from the known characteristics of a par- 
ticular past. The wider assumption of general laws 
holding for all cognisable occasions appears a very 
unsafe addendum to attach to this limited knowl- 
edge. All we can ask of the present occasion is that 
it shall determine a particular community of occa- 
sions, which are in some respects mutually qualified 
by reason of their inclusion within that same com- 
munity. That community of occasions considered in 
physical science is the set of happenings which fit on 
to each other—as we say—in a common space-time, 
so that we can trace the transitions from one to the 
other. Accordingly, we refer to the common space- 
time indicated in our immediate occasion of knowl- 
edge. Inductive reasoning proceeds from the par- 
ticular occasion to the particular community of 
occasions, and from the particular community to 
relations between particular occasions within that 
community. Until we have taken into account other 


66 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


scientific concepts, it is impossible to carry the dis- 
cussion of induction further than this ate 
conclusion. 

The third point to notice about this quotation 
from Bacon is the purely qualitative character of the 
statements made in it. In this respect Bacon com- 
pletely missed the tonality which lay behind the suc- 
cess of seventeenth century science. Science was 
becoming, and has remained, primarily quantitative. 
Search for measurable elements among your phe- 
nomena, and then search for relations between these 
measures of physical quantities. Bacon ignores this 
rule of science. For example, in the quotation given 
he speaks of action at a distance; but he is thinking 
qualitatively and not quantitatively. We cannot 
ask that he should anticipate his younger contempo- 
rary Galileo, or his distant successor Newton. But 
he gives no hint that there should be a search for 
quantities. Perhaps he was misled by the current 
logical doctrines which had come down from Aris- 
totle. For, in effect, these doctrines said to the 
physicist classify when they should have said 
measure. 

By the end of the century physics had been 
founded on a satisfactory basis of measurement. 
The final and adequate exposition was given by New- 
ton. The common measurable element of mass was 
discerned as characterising all bodies in different 
amounts. Bodies which are apparently identical in 
substance, shape, and size have very approximately 
the same mass: the closer the identity, the nearer the 
equality. ‘The force acting on a body, whether by 
touch or by action at a distance, was [in effect] 


ut] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 67 


defined as being equal to the mass of the body multi- 
plied by the rate of change of the body’s velocity, so 
far as this rate of change is produced by that force. 
In this way the force is discerned by its effect on 
the motion of the body. The question now arises 
whether this conception of the magnitude of a force 
leads to the discovery of simple quantitative laws 
involving the alternative determination of forces by 
circumstances of the configuration of substances and 
of their physical characters. ‘The Newtonian con- 
ception has been brilliantly successful in surviving 
this test throughout the whole modern period. Its 
first triumph was the law of gravitation. Its cumu- 
lative triumph has been the whole development of 
dynamical astronomy, of engineering, and of physics. 

This subject of the formation of the three laws of 
motion and of the law of gravitation deserves crit- 
ical attention. The whole development of thought 
occupied exactly two generations. It commenced 
with Galileo and ended with Newton’s Principia; 
and Newton was born in the year that Galileo died. 
Also the lives of Descartes and Huyghens fall within 
the period occupied by these great terminal figures. 
The issue of the combined labours of these four men 
has some right to be considered as the greatest single 
intellectual success which mankind has achieved. In 
estimating its size, we must consider the complete- 
ness of its range. It constructs for us a vision of 
the material universe, and it enables us to calculate 
the minutest detail of a particular occurrence. Gali- 
leo took the first step in hitting on the right line of 
thought. He noted that the critical point to attend 
to was not the motion of bodies but the changes of 


68 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


their motions. Galileo’s discovery is formularised by 
Newton in his first law of motion:—‘Every body 
continues in its state of rest, or of uniform motion 
in a straight line, except so far as it may be com- 
pelled by force to change that state.’ 

This formula contains the repudiation of a belief 
which had blocked the progress of physics for two 
thousand years. It also deals with a fundamental 
concept which is essential to s@ientific theory; I 
mean, the concept of an ideally isolated system. 
This conception embodies a fundamental character 
of things, without which science, or indeed any 
knowledge on the part of finite intellects, would be 
impossible. The ‘isolated’ system is not a solipsist 
system, apart from which there would be nonentity. 
It is isolated as within the universe. ‘This means 
that there are truths respecting this system which 
require reference only to the remainder of things by 
way of a uniform systematic scheme of relationships. 
Thus the conception of an isolated system is not the 
conception of substantial independence from the re- 
mainder of things, but of freedom from casual con- 
tingent dependence upon detailed items within the 
rest of the universe. Further, this freedom from 
casual dependence is required only in respect to cer- 
tain abstract characteristics which attach to the 
isolated system, and not in respect to the system in 
its full concreteness. 

The first law of motion asks what is to be said of 
a dynamically isolated system so far as concerns its 
motion as a whole, abstracting from its orientation 
and its internal arrangement of parts. Aristotle 
said that you must conceive such a system to be at 


ur] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 69 


rest. Galileo added that the state of rest is only a 
particular case, and that the general statement is 
‘either in a state of rest, or of uniform motion in a 
straight line.’ Accordingly, an Aristotelean would 
conceive the forces arising from the reaction of alien 
bodies as being quantitatively measurable in terms 
of the velocity they sustain, and as directively deter- 
mined by the direction of that velocity; while the 
Galilean would direct attention to the magnitude of 
the acceleration and to its direction. This difference 
is illustrated by contrasting Kepler and Newton. 
They both speculated as to the forces sustaining the 
planets in their orbits. Kepler looked for tangential 
forces pushing the planets along, whereas Newton 
looked for radial forces diverting the directions of 
the planets’ motions. 

Instead of dwelling upon the mistake which Aris- 
totle made, it is more profitable to emphasise the 
justification which he had for it, if we consider the 
obvious facts of our experience. All the motions 
which enter into our normal everyday experience 
cease unless they are evidently sustained from the 
outside. Apparently, therefore, the sound empiri- 
cist must devote his attention to this question of the 
sustenance of motion. We here hit upon one of 
the dangers of unimaginative empiricism. The 
seventeenth century exhibits another example of this 
same danger; and, of all people in the world, New- 
ton fell into it. Huyghens had produced the wave 
theory of light. But this theory failed to account 
for the most obvious facts about light as in our ordi- 
nary experience, namely, that shadows cast by ob- 
structing objects are defined by rectilinear rays. 


70 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cx. 


Accordingly, Newton rejected this theory and 
adopted the corpuscular theory which completely 
explained shadows. Since then both theories have 
had their periods of triumph. At the present mo- 
ment the scientific world is seeking for a combina- 
tion of the two. ‘These examples illustrate the 
danger of refusing to entertain an idea because of 
its failure to explain one of the most obvious facts 
in the subject matter in question. If you have had 
your attention directed to the novelties in thought in 
your own lifetime, you will have observed that al- 
most all really new ideas have a certain aspect of 
foolishness when they are first produced. 

Returning to the laws of motion, it is noticeable 
that no reason was produced in the seventeenth cen- 
tury for the Galilean as distinct from the Aristote- 
lian position. It was an ultimate fact. When in the 
course of these lectures we come to the modern 
period, we shall see that the theory of relativity 
throws complete light on this question; but only by 
rearranging our whole ideas as to space and time. 

It remained for Newton to direct attention to 
mass as a physical quantity inherent in the nature of 
a material body. Mass remained permanent during 
all changes of motion. But the proof of the perma- 
nence of mass amid chemical transformations had to 
wait for Lavoisier, a century later. Newton’s next 
task was to find some estimate of the magnitude of 
the alien force in terms of the mass of the body and 
of its acceleration. He here had a stroke of luck. 
For, from the point of view of a mathematician, 
the simplest possible law, namely the product of the 
two, proved to be the successful one. Again the 


11] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS fps 


modern relativity theory modifies this extreme sim- 
plicity. But luckily for science the delicate experi- 
ments of the physicists of to-day were not then 
known, or even possible. Accordingly, the world 
was given the two centuries which it required in 
order to digest Newton’s laws of motion. 

Having regard to this triumph, can we wonder 
that scientists placed their ultimate principles upon 
a materialistic basis, and thereafter ceased to worry 
about philosophy? We shall grasp the course of 
thought, if we understand exactly what this basis is, 
and what difficulties it finally involves. When you 
are criticising the philosophy of an epoch, do not 
chiefly direct your attention to those intellectual 
positions which its exponents feel it necessary explic- 
itly to defend. There will be some fundamental 
assumptions which adherents of all the variant sys- 
tems within the epoch unconsciously presuppose. 
Such assumptions appear so obvious that people do 
not know what they are assuming because no other 
way of putting things has ever occurred to them. 
With these assumptions a certain limited number of 
types of philosophic systems are possible, and this 
group of systems constitutes the philosophy of the 
epoch. 

One such assumption underlies the whole philoso- 
phy of nature during the modern period. It is em- 
bodied in the conception which is supposed to 
express the most concrete aspect of nature. The 
Ionian philosophers asked, What is nature made of ? 
The answer is couched in terms of stuff, or matter, 
or material—the particular name chosen is indiffer- 
ent—which has the property of simple location in 


72 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


space and time, or, if you adopt the more modern 
ideas, in space-time. What I mean by matter, or 
material, is anything which has this property of 
simple location. By simple location | mean one 
major characteristic which refers equally both to 
space and to time, and other minor characteristics 
which are diverse as between space and time. 

The characteristic common both to space and 
time is that material can be said to be here in space 
and here in time, or here in space-time, in a perfectly 
definite sense which does not require for its explan- 
ation any reference to other regions of space-time. 
Curiously enough this character of simple location 
holds whether we look on a region of space-time as 
determined absolutely or relatively. For if a region 
is merely a way of indicating a certain set of rela- 
tions to other entities, then this characteristic, which 
I call simple location, is that material can be said 
to have just these relations of position to the other 
entities without requiring for its explanation any 
reference to other regions constituted by analogous 
relations of position to the same entities. In fact, 
as soon as you have settled, however you do settle, 
what you mean by a definite place in space-time, you 
can adequately state the relation of a particular ma- 
terial body to space-time by saying that it is just 
there, in that place; and, so far as simple location 
is concerned, there is nothing more to be said on the 
subject. 

There are, however, some subordinate explana- 
tions to be made which bring in the minor character- 
istics which I have already mentioned. First, as 
regards time, if material has existed during any 


ut] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 73 


period, it has equally been in existence during any 
portion of that period. In other words, dividing the 
time does not divide the material. Secondly, in 
respect to space, dividing the volume does divide the 
material. Accordingly, if material exists through- 
out a volume, there will be less of that material dis- 
tributed through any definite half of that volume. 
It is from this property that there arises our notion 
of density at a point of space. Anyone who talks 
about density is not assimilating time and space to 
the extent that some extremists of the modern school 
of relativists very rashly desire. For the division 
of time functions, in respect to material, quite dif- 
ferently from the division of space. 

Futhermore, this fact that the material is indif- 
ferent to the division of time leads to the conclusion 
that the lapse of time is an accident, rather than of 
the essence, of the material. The material is fully 
itself in any sub-period however short. Thus the 
transition of time has nothing to do with the char- 
acter of the material. The material is equally 
itself at an instant of time. Here an instant of 
time is conceived as in itself without transition, 
since the temporal transition is the succession of 
instants. 

The answer, therefore, which the seventeenth cen- 
tury gave to the ancient question of the Ionian 
thinkers, ‘What is the world made of?’ was that 
the world is a succession of instantaneous configura- 
tions of matter—or of material, if you wish to 
include stuff more subtle than ordinary matter, the 
ether for example. 

We cannot wonder that science rested content 


74 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


with this assumption as to the fundamental elements 
of nature. ‘The great forces of nature, such as 
gravitation, were entirely determined by the con- 
figurations of masses. ‘Thus the configurations de- 
termined their own changes, so that the circle of 
scientific thought was completely closed. ‘This is the 
famous mechanistic theory of nature, which has 
reigned supreme ever since the seventeenth century. 
It is the orthodox creed of physical science. Fur- 
thermore, the creed justified itself by the prag- 
matic test. It worked. Physicists took no more 
interest in philosophy. ‘They emphasised the anti- 
rationalism of the Historical Revolt. But the 
difficulties of this theory of materialistic mechanism 
very soon became apparent. The history of thought 
in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is gov- 
erned by the fact that the world had got hold of a 
general idea which it could neither live with nor live 
without. 

This simple location of instantaneous material 
configurations is what Bergson has_ protested 
against, so far as it concerns time and so far as it 
is taken to be the fundamental fact of concrete 
nature. He calls it a distortion of nature due to the 
intellectual ‘spatialisation’ of things. I agree with 
Bergson in his protest: but I do not agree that such 
distortion is a vice necessary to the intellectual ap- 
prehension of nature. I shall in subsequent lectures 
endeavour to show that this spatialisation is the 
expression of more concrete facts under the guise 
of very abstract logical constructions. ‘There is an 
error; but it is merely the accidental error of mis- 
taking the abstract for the concrete. It is an ex- 


1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 75 


ample of what I will call the ‘Fallacy of Misplaced 
Concreteness.’ This fallacy is the occasion of great 
confusion in philosophy. It is not necessary for 
the intellect to fall into the trap, though in this 
example there has been a very general tendency to 
do so. 

It is at once evident that the concept of simple 
location is going to make great difficulties for induc- 
tion. For, if in the location of configurations of 
matter throughout a stretch of time there is no 
inherent reference to any other times, past or future, 
it immediately follows that nature within any period 
does not refer to nature at any other period. Ac- 
cordingly, induction is not based on anything which 
can be observed as inherent in nature. Thus we 
cannot look to nature for the justification of our 
belief in any law such as the law of gravitation. In 
other words, the order of nature cannot be justified 
by the mere observation of nature. For there is 
nothing in the present fact which inherently refers 
either to the past or to the future. It looks, there- 
fore, as though memory, as well as induction, would 
fail to find any justification within nature itself. 

I have been anticipating the course of future 
thought, and have been repeating Hume’s argument. 
This train of thought follows so immediately from 
the consideration of simple location, that we cannot 
wait for the eighteenth century before considering 
it. The only wonder is that the world did in fact 
wait for Hume before noting the difficulty. Also it 
illustrates the anti-rationalism of the scientific public 
that, when Hume did appear, it was only the reli- 
gious implications of his philosophy which attracted 


76 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu 


attention. This was because the clergy were in prin- 
ciple rationalists, whereas the men of science were 
content with a simple faith in the order of nature. 
Hume himself remarks, no doubt scoffingly, ‘Our 
holy religion is founded on faith.’ This attitude sat- 
isfied the Royal Society but not the Church. It also 
satisfied Hume and has satisfied subsequent empiri- 
cists. | 

There is another presupposition of thought which 
must be put beside the theory of simple location. I 
mean the two correlative categories of Substance 
and quality. There is, however, this difference. 
There were different theories as to the adequate 
description of the status of space. But whatever its 
status, no one had any doubt but that the connection 
with space enjoyed by entities, which are said to be 
in space, is that of simple location. We may put 
this shortly by saying that it was tacitly assumed that 
space is the locus of simple locations. Whatever 
is in space is simpliciter in some definite portion of 
space. But in respect to substance and quality the 
leading minds of the seventeenth century were defi- 
nitely perplexed; though, with their usual genius, 
they at once constructed a theory which was ade- 
quate for their immediate purposes. 

Of course, substance and quality, as well as simple 
location, are the most natural ideas for the human 
mind. It is the way in which we think of things, and 
without these ways of thinking we could not get our 
ideas straight for daily use. ‘There is no doubt 
about this. The only question is, How concretely 
are we thinking when we consider nature under these 
conceptions? My point will be, that we are present- 


m1] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 7), 


ing ourselves with simplified editions of immediate 
matters of fact. When we examine the primary ele- 
ments of these simplified editions, we shall find that 
they are in truth only to be justified as being elabo- 
rate logical constructions of a high degree of ab- 
straction. Of course, as a point of individual psy- 
chology, we get at the ideas by the rough and ready 
method of suppressing what appear to be irrelevant 
details. But when we attempt to justify this sup- 
pression of irrelevance, we find that, though there 
are entities left corresponding to the entities we talk 
about, yet these entities are of a high degree of 
abstraction. 

Thus I hold that substance and quality afford an- 
other instance of the fallacy of misplaced concrete- 
ness. Let us consider how the notions of substance 
and quality arise. We observe an object as an entity 
with certain characteristics. Futhermore, each indi- 
vidual entity is apprehended through its characteris- 
tics. For example, we observe a body; there is 
something about it which we note. Perhaps, it is 
hard, and blue, and round, and noisy. We observe 
something which possesses these qualities: apart 
from these qualities we do not observe anything at 
all. Accordingly, the entity is the substratum, or 
substance, of which we predicate qualities. Some of 
the qualities are essential, so that apart from them 
the entity would not be itself; while other qualities 
are accidental and changeable. In respect to mate- 
rial bodies, the qualities of having a quantitative 
mass, and of simple location somewhere, were held 
by John Locke at the close of the seventeenth cen- 
tury to be essential qualities. Of course, the location 


78 SCIENCE AND 'THE MODERN WORLD fcH. 


was changeable, and the unchangeability of mass was 
merely an experimental fact except for some extrem- 
ists. 

So far, so good. But when we pass to blueness 
and noisiness a new situation has to be faced. In the 
first place, the body may not be always blue, or 
noisy. We have already allowed for this by our 
theory of accidental qualities, which for the moment 
we may accept as adequate. But in the second place, 
the seventeenth century exposed a real difficulty. 
The great physicists elaborated transmission theo- 
ries of light and sound, based upon their material- 
istic views of nature. There were two hypotheses 
as to light: either it was transmitted by the vibratory 
waves of a materialistic ether, or—according to 
Newton—it was transmitted by the motion of in- 
credibly small corpuscles of some subtle matter. 
We all know that the wave theory of Huyghens held 
the field during the nineteenth century, and at pres- 
ent physicists are endeavouring to explain some ob- 
scure circumstances attending radiation by a com- 
bination of both theories. But whatever theory you 
choose, there is no light or colour as a fact in ex- 
ternal nature. ‘There is merely motion of material. 
Again, when the light enters your eyes and falls on 
the retina, there is merely motion of material. Then 
your nerves are affected and your brain is affected, 
and again this is merely motion of material. The 
same line of argument holds for sound, substituting 
waves in the air for waves in the ether, and ears for 
eyes. 

We then ask in what sense are blueness and noisi- 
ness qualities of the body. By analogous reasoning, 


ut] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 79 


we also ask in what sense is its scent a quality of the 
rose. 

Galileo considered this question, and at once 
pointed out that, apart from eyes, ears, or noses, 
there would be no colours, sounds, or smells. Des- 
cartes and Locke elaborated a theory of primary 
and secondary qualities. For example, Descartes 
in his ‘Sixth Meditation’ says:* ‘And indeed, as I 
perceive different sorts of colours, sounds, odours, 
tastes, heat, hardness, etc., I safely conclude that 
there are in the bodies from which the diverse per- 
ceptions of the senses proceed, certain varieties cor- 
responding to them, although, perhaps, not in reality 
Prenthenr seme 

Also in his Principles of Philosophy, he says: 
‘That by our senses we know nothing of external 
objects beyond their figure [or situation], magni- 
tude, and motion.’ 

Locke, writing with a knowledge of Newtonian 
dynamics, places mass among the primary qualities 
of bodies. In short, he elaborates a theory of pri- 
mary and secondary qualities in accordance with the 
state of physical science at the close of the seven- 
teenth century. The primary qualities are the essen- 
tial qualities of substances whose spatio-temporal 
relationships constitute nature. ‘The orderliness of 
these relationships constitutes the order of nature. 
The occurrences of nature are in some way appre- 
hended by minds, which are associated with living 
bodies. Primarily, the mental apprehension is 
aroused by the occurrences in certain parts of the 
correlated body, the occurrences in the brain, for 

* Translation by Professor John Veitch. 


80 SCIENCE AND ‘THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


instance. But the mind in apprehending also experi- 
ences sensations which, properly speaking, are qual- 
ities of the mind alone. These sensations are pro- 
jected by the mind so as to clothe appropriate bodies 
in external nature. Thus the bodies are perceived 
as with qualities which in reality do not belong to 
them, qualities which in fact are purely the offspring 
of the mind. ‘Thus nature gets credit which should 
in truth be reserved for ourselves: the rose for its 
scent: the nightingale for his song: and the sun for 
his radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. 
They should address their lyrics to themselves, and 
should turn them into odes of self-congratulation on 
the excellency of the human mind. Nature is a dull 
affair, soundless, scentless, colourless; merely the 
hurrying of material, endlessly, meaninglessly. 

However you disguise it, this is the practical out- 
come of the characteristic scientific philosophy which 
closed the seventeenth century. 

In the first place, we must note its astounding efh- 
ciency as a system of concepts for the organisation 
of scientific research. In this respect, it is fully 
worthy of the genius of the century which produced 
it. It has held its own as the guiding principle of 
scientific studies ever since. It is still reigning. 
Every university in the world organises itself in ac- 
cordance with it. No alternative system of organ- 
ising the pursuit of scientific truth has been sug- 
gested. It is not only reigning, but it is without a 
rival. 

And yet—it is quite unbelievable. This concep- 
tion of the universe is surely framed in terms of 
high abstractions, and the paradox only arises be- 


‘ ur] THE CENTURY OF GENIUS 81 


cause we have mistaken our abstraction for concrete 
realities. 

No picture, however generalised, of the achieve- 
ments of scientific thought in this century can omit 
the advance in mathematics. Here as elsewhere 
the genius of the epoch made itself evident. Three 
great Frenchmen, Descartes, Desargues, Pascal, in- 
itiated the modern period in geometry. Another 
Frenchman, Fermat, laid the foundations of modern 
analysis, and all but perfected the methods of the 
differential calculus. Newton and Leibniz, between 
them, actually did create the differential calculus as 
a practical method of mathematical reasoning. 
When the century ended, mathematics as an instru- 
ment for application to physical problems was well 
established in something of its modern proficiency. 
Modern pure mathematics, if we except geometry, 
was in its infancy, and had given no signs of the 
astonishing growth it was to make in the nineteenth 
century. But the mathematical physicist had ap- 
peared, bringing with him the type of mind which 
was to rule the scientific world in the next century. 
It was to be the age of ‘Victorious Analysis.’ 

The seventeenth century had finally produced a 
scheme of scientific thought framed by mathemati- 
cians, for the use of mathematicians. The great 
characteristic of the mathematical mind is its capa- 
city for dealing with abstractions; and for eliciting 
from them clear-cut demonstrative trains of reason- 
ing, entirely satisfactory so long as it is those ab- 
stractions which you want to think about. ‘The 
enormous success of the scientific abstractions, yield. 
ing on the one hand matter with its simple location 


82 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD | {[cu. m1]. 


in space and time, on the other hand mind, perceiv- 
ing, suffering, reasoning, but not interfering, has 
foisted onto philosophy the task of accepting them 
as the most concrete rendering of fact. 

Thereby, modern philosophy has been ruined. It 
has oscillated in a complex manner between three 
extremes. There are the dualists, who accept matter 
and mind as on an equal basis, and the two varieties 
of monists, those who put mind inside matter, and 
those who put matter inside mind. But this jug- 
gling with abstractions can never overcome the 
inherent confusion introduced by the ascription of 
misplaced concreteness to the scientific scheme of the 
seventeenth century. 


CHAPTER IV 
THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 


In so far as the intellectual climates of different 
epochs can be contrasted, the eighteenth century in 
Europe was the complete antithesis to the Middle 
Ages. ‘The contrast is symbolised by the difference 
between the cathedral of Chartres and the Parisian 
salons, where D’Alembert conversed with Voltaire. 
The Middle Ages were haunted with the desire to 
rationalise the infinite: the men of the eighteenth 
century rationalised the social life of modern com- 
munities, and based their sociological theories on an 
appeal to the facts of nature. The earlier period 
was the age of faith, based upon reason. In the 
later period, they let sleeping dogs lie: it was the 
age of reason, based upon faith. ‘To illustrate my 
meaning :—St. Anselm would have been distressed 
if he had failed to find a convincing argument for 
the existence of God, and on this argument he based 
his edifice of faith, whereas Hume based his Dis- 
sertation on the Natural History of Religion upon 
his faith in the order of nature. In comparing these 
epochs it is well to remember that reason can err, 
and that faith may be misplaced. 

In my previous lecture I traced the evolution, dur- 
ing the seventeenth century, of the scheme of scien- 

93 


84 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


tific ideas which has dominated thought ever since. 
It involves a fundamental duality, with material on 
the one hand, and on the other hand mind. In 
between there lie the concepts of life, organism, 
function, instantaneous reality, interaction, order of 
nature, which collectively form the Achilles heel of 
the whole system. 

I also express my conviction that if we desired 
to obtain a more fundamental expression of the con- 
crete character of natural fact, the element in this 
scheme which we should first criticise is the concept 
of simple location. In view therefore of the impor- 
tance which this idea will assume in these lectures, I 
will repeat the meaning which I have attached to 
this phrase. ‘To say that a bit of matter has simple 
location means that, in expressing its spatio-tempo- 
ral relations, it is adequate to state that it is where 
it is, in a definite finite region of space, and through- 
out a definite finite duration of time, apart from 
any essential reference of the relations of that bit 
of matter to other regions of space and to other 
durations of time. Again, this concept of simple 
location is independent of the controversy between 
the absolutist and the relativist views of space or 
of time. So long as any theory of space, or of time, 
can give a meaning, either absolute or relative, to 
the idea of a definite region of space, and of a defi- 
nite duration of time, the idea of simple location 
has a perfectly definite meaning. ‘This idea is the 
very foundation of the seventeenth century scheme 
of nature. Apart from it, the scheme is incapable 
of expression. I shall argue that among the primary 
elements of nature as apprehended in our immediate 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 85 


experience, there is no element whatever which 
possesses this character of simple location. It does 
not follow, however, that the science of the seven- 
teenth century was simply wrong. I hold that by a 
process of constructive abstraction we can arrive at 
abstractions which are the simply-located bits of ma- 
terial, and at other abstractions which are the minds 
included in the scientific scheme. Accordingly, the 
real error is an example of what I have termed: The 
Fallacy of Misplaced Concreteness. 

The advantage of confining attention to a definite 
group of abstractions, is that you confine your 
thoughts to clear-cut definite things, with clear-cut 
definite relations. Accordingly, if you have a logical 
head, you can deduce a variety of conclusions re- 
specting the relationships between these abstract 
entities. Furthermore, if the abstractions are well- 
founded, that is to say, if they do not abstract from 
everything that is important in experience, the scien- 
tific thought which confines itself to these abstrac- 
tions will arrive at a variety of important truths 
relating to our experience of nature. We all know 
those clear-cut trenchant intellects, immovably en- 
cased in a hard shell of abstractions. ‘They hold 
you to their abstractions by the sheer grip of per- 
sonality. 

The disadvantage of exclusive attention to a 
group of abstractions, however well-founded, is that, 
by the nature of the case, you have abstracted from 
the remainder of things. In so far as the excluded 
things are important in your experience, your modes 
of thought are not fitted to deal with them. You 
cannot think without abstractions; accordingly, it is 


86 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


of the utmost importance to be vigilant in critically 
revising your modes of abstraction. It is here that 
philosophy finds its niche as essential to the healthy 
progress of society. It is the critic of abstractions. 
A civilisation which cannot burst through its current 
abstractions is doomed to sterility after a very lim- 
ited period of progress.. An active school of phil- 
osophy is quite as important for the locomotion of 
ideas, as is an active school of railway engineers for 
the locomotion of fuel. 

Sometimes it happens that the service rendered by 
philosophy is entirely obscured by the astonishing 
success of a scheme of abstractions in expressing the 
dominant interests of an epoch. ‘This is exactly 
what happened during the eighteenth century. Les 
philosophes were not philosophers. ‘They were men 
of genius, clear-headed and acute, who applied the 
seventeenth century group of scientific abstractions 
to the analysis of the unbounded universe. ‘Their 
triumph, in respect to the circle of ideas mainly in- 
teresting to their contemporaries, was overwhelming. 
Whatever did not fit into their scheme was ignored, 
derided, disbelieved. Their hatred of Gothic archi- 
tecture symbolises their lack of sympathy with dim 
perspectives. It was the age of reason, healthy, 
manly, upstanding reason; but, of one-eyed reason, 
deficient in its vision of depth. We cannot overrate 
the debt of gratitude which we owe to these men. 
For a thousand years Europe had been a prey to 
intolerant, intolerable visionaries. “The common 
sense of the eighteenth century, its grasp of the ob- 
vious facts of human suffering, and of the obvious 
demands of human nature, acted on the world like 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 87 


a bath of moral cleansing. Voltaire must have the 
credit, that he hated injustice, he hated cruelty, he 
hated senseless repression, and he hated hocus-pocus. 
Futhermore, when he saw them, he knew them. In 
these supreme virtues, he was typical of his century, 
on its better side. But if men cannot live on bread 
alone, still less can they do so on disinfectants. The 
age had its limitations; yet we cannot understand 
the passion with which some of its main positions 
are still defended, especially in the schools of science, 
unless we do full justice to its positive achievements. 
The seventeenth century scheme of concepts was 
proving a perfect instrument for research. 

This triumph of materialism was chiefly in the 
sciences of rational dynamics, physics, and chem- 
istry. So far as dynamics and physics were con- 
cerned, progress was in the form of direct develop- 
ments of the main ideas of the previous epoch. 
Nothing fundamentally new was introduced, but 
there was an immense detailed development. Spe- 
cial case was unravelled. It was as though the very 
Heavens were being opened, on a set plan. In the 
second half of the century, Lavoisier practically 
founded chemistry on its present basis. He intro- 
duced into it the principle that no material is lost or 
gained in any chemical transformations. This was 
the last success of materialistic thought, which has 
not ultimately proved to be double-edged. Chemi- 
cal science now only waited for the atomic theory, in 
the next century. 

In this century the notion of the mechanical ex- 
planation of all the processes of nature finally 
hardened into a dogma of science. The notion won 


88 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


through on its merits by reason of an almost mi- 
raculous series of triumphs achieved by the mathe- 
matical physicists, culminating in the Méchanique 
Analytique of Lagrange, which was published in 
1787. Newton’s Principia was published in 1687, so 
that exactly one hundred years separates the two 
great books. This century contains the first period 
of mathematical physics of the modern type. The 
publication of Clerk Maxwell’s Electricity and Mag- 
netism in 1873 marks the close of the second period. 
Each of these three books introduces new horizons 
of thought affecting everything which comes after 
them. 

In considering the various topics to which man- 
kind has bent its systematic thought, it is impossible 
not to be struck with the unequal distribution of 
ability among the different fields. In almost all sub- 
jects there are a few outstanding names. For it 
requires genius to create a subject as a distinct topic 
for thought. But in the case of many topics, after 
a good beginning very relevant to its immediate 
occasion, the subsequent development appears as a 
weak series of flounderings, so that the whole subject 
gradually loses its grip on the evolution of thought. 
It was far otherwise with mathematical physics. 
The more you study this subject, the more you will 
find yourself astonished by the almost incredible 
triumphs of intellect which it exhibits. The great 
mathematical physicists of the eighteenth and first 
few years of the nineteenth century, most of them 
French, are a case in point: Maupertuis, Clairaut, 
D’Alembert, Lagrange, Laplace, Fourier, Carnot, 
form a series of names, such that each recalls to 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 89 


mind some achievement of the first rank. When 
Carlyle, as the mouthpiece of the subsequent Roman- 
tic Age, scoflingly terms the period the Age of Vic- 
torious Analysis, and mocks at Maupertuis as a 
‘sublimish gentleman in a white periwig,’ he only 
exhibits the narrow side of the Romanticists whom 
he is then voicing. 

It is impossible to explain intelligently, in a short 
time and without technicalities, the details of the 
progress made by this school. I will, however, 
endeavour to explain the main point of a joint 
achievement of Maupertuis and Lagrange. Their 
results, in conjunction with some subsequent mathe- 
matical methods due to two great German mathe- 
maticians of the first half of the nineteenth century, 
Gauss and Riemann, have recently proved them- 
selves to be the preparatory work necessary for the 
new ideas which Herz and Einstein have introduced 
into mathematical physics. Also they inspired some 
of the best ideas in Clerk Maxwell’s treatise, already 
mentioned in this lecture. 

They aimed at discovering something more funda- 
mental and more general than Newton’s laws of 
motion which were discussed in the previous lecture. 
They wanted to find some wider ideas, and in the 
case of Lagrange some more general means of 
mathematical exposition. It was an ambitious enter- 
prise, and they were completely successful. Mauper- 
tuis lived in the first half of the eighteenth century, 
and Lagrange’s active life lay in its second half. 
We find in Maupertuis a tinge of the theologic age 
which preceded his birth. He started with the idea 
that the whole path of a material particle between 


90 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD LCH. 


any limits of time must achieve some perfection 
worthy of the providence of God. ‘There are two 
points of interest in this motive principle. In the 
first place, it illustrates the thesis which I was urg- 
ing in my first lecture that the way in which the 
medieval church had impressed on Europe the 
notion of the detailed providence of a rational per- 
sonal God was one of the factors by which the trust 
in the order of nature had been generated. In the 
second place, though we are now all convinced that 
such modes of thought are of no direct use in 
detailed scientific enquiry, Maupertuis’ success in 
this particular case shows that almost any idea which 
jogs you out of your current abstractions may be 
better than nothing. In the present case what the 
idea in question did for Maupertuis was to lead him 
to enquire what general property of the path as a 
whole could be deduced from Newton’s laws of 
motion. Undoubtedly this was a very sensible pro- 
cedure whatever one’s theological notions. Also his 
general idea led him to conceive that the property 
found would be a quantitative sum, such that any 
slight deviation from the path would increase it. 
In this supposition he was generalising Newton’s 
first law of motion. For an isolated particle takes 
the shortest route with uniform velocity. So Mau- 
pertuis conjectured that a particle travelling through 
a field of force would realise the least possible 
amount of some quantity. He discovered such a 
quantity and called it the integral action between the 
time limits considered. In modern phraseology it 
is the sum through successive small lapses of time 
of the difference between the kinetic and potential 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 91 


energies of the particle at each successive instant. 
This action, therefore, has to do with the inter- 
change between the energy arising from motion and 
the energy arising from position. Maupertuis had 
discovered the famous theorem of least action. 
Maupertuis was not quite of the first rank in com- 
parison with such a man as Lagrange. In his hands 
and in those of his immediate successors, his prin- 
ciple did not assume any dominating importance. 
Lagrange put the same question on a wider basis so 
as to make its answer relevant to actual procedure 
in the development of dynamics. His Principle of 
Virtual Work as applied to systems in motion is in 
effect Maupertuis’ principle conceived as applying 
at each instant of the path of the system. But La- 
grange saw further than Maupertuis. He grasped 
that he had gained a method of stating dynamical 
truths in a way which is perfectly indifferent to the 
particular methods of measurement employed in 
fixing the positions of the various parts of the sys- 
tem. Accordingly, he went on to deduce equations 
of motion which are equally applicable whatever 
quantitative measurements have been made, pro- 
vided that they are adequate to fix positions. The 
beauty and almost divine simplicity of these equa- 
tions is such that these formulae are worthy to rank 
with those mysterious symbols which in ancient 
times were held directly to indicate the Supreme 
Reason at the base of all things. Later Herz— 
inventor of electromagnetic waves—based mechan- 
ics on the idea of every particle traversing the 
shortest path open to it under the circumstances 
constraining its motion; and finally Einstein, by the 


92 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


use of the geometrical theories of Gauss and Rie- 
mann, showed that these circumstances could be 
construed as being inherent in the character of space- 
time itself. Such, in barest outline, is the story of 
dynamics from Galileo to Einstein. 

Meanwhile Galvani and Volta lived and made 
their electric discoveries; and the biological sciences 
slowly gathered their material, but still waited for 
dominating ideas. Psychology, also, was beginning 
to disengage itself from its dependence on general 
philosophy. ‘This independent growth of psychol- 
ogy was the ultimate result of its invocation by John 
Locke as a critic of metaphysical licence. All the 
sciences dealing with life were still in an elementary 
observational stage, in which classification and direct 
description were dominant. So far the scheme of 
abstractions was adequate to the occasion. 

In the realm of practice, the age which produced 
enlightened rulers, such as the Emperor Joseph of 
the House of Hapsburg, Frederick the Great, Wal- 
pole, the great Lord Chatham, George Washing- 
ton, cannot be said to have failed. Especially when 
to these rulers, it adds the invention of parliamen- 
tary cabinet government in England, of federal 
presidential government in the United States, and 
of the humanitarian principles of the French Revo- 
lution. Also in technology it produced the steam- 
engine, and thereby ushered in a new era of civil- 
isation. Undoubtedly, as a practical age the eight- 
eenth century was a success. If you had asked one 
of the wisest and most typical of its ancestors, who 
just saw its commencement, I mean John Locke, 
what he expected from it he would hardly have 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 93 


pitched his hopes higher than its actual achieve- 
ments. 

In developing a criticism of the scientific scheme 
of the eighteenth century, I must first give my main 
reason for ignoring nineteenth century idealism—I 
am speaking of the philosophic idealism which finds 
the ultimate meaning of reality in mentality that is 
fully cognitive. This idealistic school, as hitherto 
developed, has been too much divorced from the 
scientific outlook. It has swallowed the scientific 
scheme in its entirety as being the only rendering of 
the facts of nature, and has then explained it as 
being an idea in the ultimate mentality. In the case 
of absolute idealism, the world of nature is just one 
of the ideas, somehow differentiating the unity of 
the Absolute: in the case of pluralistic idealism 
involving monadic mentalities, this world is the 
greatest common measure of the various ideas which 
differentiate the various mental unities of the various 
monads. But, however you take it, these idealistic 
schools have conspicuously failed to connect, in any 
organic fashion, the fact of nature with their ideal- 
istic philosophies. So far as concerns what will 
be said in these lectures, your ultimate outlook may 
be realistic or idealistic. My point is that a further 
stage of provisional realism is required in which the 
scientific scheme is recast, and founded upon the ulti- 
mate concept of organism. 

In outline, my procedure is to start from the 
analysis of the status of space and of time, or in 
modern phraseology, the status of space-time. 
There are two characters of either. Things are 
separated by space, and are separated by time: but 


54 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


they are also together in space, and together in time, 
even if they be not contemporaneous. I will call 
these characters the separative and the prehensive 
characters of space-time. ‘There is yet a third char- 
acter of space-time. Everything which is in space 
receives a definite limitation of some sort, so that 
in a sense it has just that shape which it does have 
and no other, also in some sense it is just in this 
place and in no other. Analogously for time, a 
thing endures during a certain period, and through 
no other period. I will call this the modal charac- 
ter of space-time. It is evident that the modal 
character taken by itself gives rise to the idea of 
simple location. But it must be conjoined with the 
separative and prehensive characters. 

For simplicity of thought, I will first speak of 
space only, and will afterwards extend the same 
treatment to time. 

The volume is the most concrete element of space. 
But the separative character of space, analyses a 
volume into sub-volumes, and so on indefinitely. 
Accordingly, taking the separative character in iso- 
lation, we should infer that a volume is a mere 
multiplicity of non-voluminous elements, of points 
in fact. But it is the unity of volume which is the 
ultimate fact of experience, for example, the volum- 
inous space of this hall. ‘This hall as a mere mul- 
tiplicity of points is a construction of the logical 
imagination. 

Accordingly, the prime fact is the prehensive 
unity of volume, and this unity is mitigated or lim- 
ited by the separated unities of the innumerable 
contained parts. We have a prehensive unity, which 


7 
, 


Iv | THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 95 


is yet held apart as an aggregate of contained parts. 
But the prehensive unity of the volume is not the 
unity of a mere logical aggregate of parts. The 
parts form an ordered aggregate, in the sense that 
each part is something from the standpoint of every 
other part, and also from the same standpoint every 
other part is something in relation to it. Thus if 
A and B and C are volumes of space, B has an 
aspect from the standpoint of 4, and so has C, and 
so has the relationship of B and C. This aspect of 
B from 4 is of the essence of 4. The volumes of 
space have no independent existence. They are only 
entities as within the totality; you cannot extract 
them from their environment without destruction 
of their very essence. Accordingly, I will say that 
the aspect of B from J is the mode in which B enters 
into the composition of 4. This is the modal char- 
acter of space, that the prehensive unity of 4 is the 
prehension into unity of the aspects of all other 
volumes from the standpoint of 4. ‘The shape of 
a volume is the formula from which the totality 
of its aspects can be derived. Thus the shape of 
a volume is more abstract than its aspects. It is 
evident that I can use Leibniz’s language, and say 
that every volume mirrors in itself every other vol- 
ume in space. 

Exactly analogous considerations hold with respect 
to durations in time. An instant of time, without 
duration, is an imaginative logical construction. 
Also each duration of time mirrors in itself all tem- 
poral durations. 

But in two ways I have introduced a false sim: 
plicity. In the first place, I should have conjoined 


96 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


space and time, and conducted my explanation in 
respect to four-dimensional regions of space-time. 
I have nothing to add in the way of explanation. 
In your minds, substitute such four-dimensional 
regions for the spatial volumes of the previous 
explanations. 

Secondly, my explanation has involved itself in a 
vicious circle. For I have made the prehensive 
unity of the region 4 to consist of the prehensive 
unification of the modal presences in 4 of other 
regions. This difficulty arises because space-time 
cannot in reality be considered as a self-subsistent 
entity. It is an abstraction, and its explanation 
requires reference to that from which it has been 
extracted. Space-time is the specification of certain 
general characters of events and of their mutual 
ordering. ‘This recurrence to concrete fact brings 
me back to the eighteenth century, and indeed to 
Francis Bacon in the seventeenth century. We have 
to consider the development in those epochs, of the 
criticism of the reigning scientific scheme. 

No epoch is homogeneous; whatever you may 
have assigned as the dominant note of a consider- 
able period, it will always be possible to produce 
men, and great men, belonging to the same time, 
who exhibit themselves as antagonistic to the tone 
of their age. This is certainly the case with the 
eighteenth century. For example, the names of 
John Wesley and of Rousseau must have occurred 
to you while I was drawing the character of that 
time. But I do not want to speak of them, or of 
others. The man whose ideas I must consider at 
some length is Bishop Berkeley. Quite at the com- 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 97 


mencement of the epoch, he made all the right crit- 
icisms, at least in principle. It would be untrue to 
say that he produced no effect. He was a famous 
man. The wife of George II was one of the few 
queens who, in any country, have been clever enough, 
and wise enough, to patronise learning judiciously; 
accordingly, Berkeley was made a bishop, in days, 
when bishops in Great Britain were relatively fas 
greater men than they are now. Also, what was 
more important than his bishopric, Hume studied 
him, and developed one side of his philosophy in 
a way which might have disturbed the ghost of the 
great ecclesiastic. “Then Kant studied Hume. So, 
to say that Berkeley was uninfluential during the 
century, would certainly be absurd. But all the 
same, he failed to affect the main stream of scientific 
thought. It flowed on as if he had never written. 
Its general success made it impervious to criticism, 
then and since. ‘The world of science has always 
remained perfectly satisfied with its peculiar abstrac- 
tions. They work, and that is sufficient for it. 

The point before us is that this scientific field of 
thought is now, in the twentieth century, too narrow 
for the concrete facts which are before it for analy- 
sis. [his is true even in physics, and is more espe- 
cially urgent in the biological sciences. Thus, in 
order to understand the difficulties of modern 
scientific thought and also its reactions on the mod- 
ern world, we should have in our minds some 
conception of a wider field of abstraction, a more 
concrete analysis, which shall stand nearer to the 
complete concreteness of our intuitive experience. 
Such an analysis should find in itself a niche for 


98 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


the concepts of matter and spirit, as abstractions 
in terms of which much of our physical experience 
can be interpreted. It is in the search for this wider 
basis for scientific thought that Berkeley is so impor- 
tant. He launched his criticism shortly after the 
schools of Newton and Locke had completed their 
work, and laid his finger exactly on the weak spots 
which they had left. I do not propose to consider 
either the subjective idealism which has been de- 
rived from him, or the schools of development which 
trace their descent from Hume and Kant respec- 
tively. My point will be that—whatever the final 
metaphysics you may adopt—there is another line 
of development embedded in Berkeley, pointing to 
the analysis which we are in search of. Berkeley 
overlooked it, partly by reason of the overintel- 
lectualism of philosophers, and partly by his haste 
to have recourse to an idealism with its objec- 
tivity grounded in the mind of God. You will 
remember that I have already stated that the key 
of the problem lies in the notion of simple location. 
Berkeley, in effect, criticises this notion. He also 
raises the question, What do we mean by things 
being realised in the world of nature? 

In Sections 23 and 24 of his Principles of Human 
Knowledge, Berkeley gives his answer to this latter 
question. I will quote some detached sentences 
from those Sections: 

‘23. But, say you, surely there is nothing easier 
than for me to imagine trees, for instance, in a park, 
or books existing in a closet, and nobody by to 
perceive them. I answer, you may so, there is no 
difficulty in it; but what is all this, I beseech you, 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 99 


more than framing in your mind certain ideas which 
you call books and trees, and at the same time omit- 
ting to frame the idea of any one that may perceive 
them? . 

‘When we do our utmost to conceive the exist- 
ence of external bodies, we are all the while only 
contemplating our own ideas. But the mind taking 
no notice of itself, is deluded to think it can and 
does conceive bodies existing unthought of or with- 
out the mind, though at the same time they are 
apprehended by or exist in itself. . 

‘24. It is very obvious, upon the least inquiry 
into our thoughts, to know whether it be possible 
for us to understand what is meant by the absolute 
existence of sensible objects in themselves, or with- 
out the mind. To me it is evident those words 
mark out either a direct contradiction, or else noth- 
fra tial lite niy! 

Again there is a very remarkable passage in Sec- 
tion 10, of the fourth Dialogue of Berkeley’s 
Alciphron. I have already quoted it, at greater 
length, in my Principles of Natural Knowledge: 

‘Euphranor. Tell me, Alciphron, can you dis- 
cern the doors, window and battlements of that 
same castle? 

‘Alciphron. I cannot. At this distance it seems 
only a small round tower. 

‘Euph. But I, who have been at it, know that it 
is no small round tower, but a large square building 
with battlements and turrets, which it seems you do 
not see. 

‘Alc. What will you infer from thence? 

‘Euph. I would infer that the very object which 


100 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH 


you strictly and properly perceive by sight is not 
that thing which is several miles distant. 

‘Alc. Why so? 

‘Euph. Because a little round object is one thing, 
and a great square object is another. Is it not 
SO sets: 

Some analogous examples concerning a planet and 
a cloud are then cited in the dialogue, and this pas- 
sage finally concludes with: 

‘Euphranor. Is it not plain, therefore, that 
neither the castle, the planet, nor the cloud, which 
you see here, are those real ones which you suppose 
exist at a distance ?” 

It is made explicit in the first passage, already 
quoted, that Berkeley himself adopts an extreme 
idealistic interpretation. For him mind is the only 
absolute reality, and the unity of nature is the unity 
of ideas in the mind of God. Personally, I think 
that Berkeley’s solution of the metaphysical problem 
raises difficulties not less than those which he points 
out as arising from a realistic interpretation of the 
scientific scheme. ‘There is, however, another pos- 
sible line of thought, which enables us to adopt any- 
how an attitude of provisional realism, and to widen 
the scientific scheme in a way which is useful for 
science itself. 

I recur to the passage from Francis Bacon’s Nat- 
ural History, already quoted in the previous lecture: 

‘It is certain that all bodies whatsoever, though 
they have no sense, yet they have perception: . 
and whether the body be alterant or altered, ever- 
more a perception precedeth operation; for else all 
bodies would be alike one to another. . . .’ 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 101 


Also in the previous lecture I construed percep- 
tion (as used by Bacon) as meaning taking account 
of the essential character of the thing perceived, and 
I construed sense as meaning cognition. We cer- 
tainly do take account of things of which at the 
time we have no explicit cognition. We can even 
have a cognitive memory of the taking account, 
without having had a contemporaneous cognition. 
Also, as Bacon points out by his statement, 
3 for else all bodies would be alike one to 
another,’ it is evidently some element of the essen- 
tial character which we take account of, namely 
something on which diversity is founded and not 
mere bare logical diversity. 

The word perceive is, in our common usage, 
shot through and through with the notion of cog- 
nitive apprehension. So is the word apprehension, 
even with the adjective cognitive omitted. I will use 
the word prehension for uncognitive apprehension: 
by this I mean apprehension which may or may not 
be cognitive. Now take Euphranor’s last remark: 

‘Is it not plain, therefore, that neither the castle, 
the planet, nor the cloud, which you see here, are 
those real ones which you suppose exist at a dis- 
tance?’ Accordingly, there is a prehension, here in 
this place, of things which have a reference to other 
places. 

Now go back to Berkeley’s sentences, quoted from 
his Principles of Human Knowledge. He contends 
that what constitutes the realisation of natural enti- 
ties is the being perceived within the unity of mind. 

We can substitute the concept, that the realisa- 
tion is a gathering of things into the unity of a pre 


102 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH 


hension; and that what is thereby realised is the 
prehension, and not the things. This unity of a 
prehension defines itself as a here and a now, and 
the things so gathered into the grasped unity have 
essential reference to other places and other times. 
For Berkeley’s mind, I substitute a process of pre- 
hensive unification. In order to make intelligible 
this concept of the progressive realisation of natural 
occurrences, considerable expansion is required, and 
confrontation with its actual implications in terms 
of concrete experience. ‘This will be the task of the 
subsequent lectures. In the first place, note that the 
idea of simple location has gone. The things which 
are grasped into a realised unity, here and now, are 
not the castle, the cloud, and the planet simply in 
themselves; but they are the castle, the cloud, and 
the planet from the standpoint, in space and time, 
of the prehensive unification. In other words, it is 
the perspective of the castle over there from the 
standpoint of the unification here. It is, therefore, 
aspects of the castle, the cloud, and the planet which 
are grasped into unity here. You will remember 
that the idea of perspectives is quite familiar in 
philosophy. It was introduced by Leibniz, in the 
notion of his monads mirroring perspectives of the 
universe. I am using the same notion, only I am 
toning down his monads into the unified events in 
space and time. In some ways, there is a greater 
analogy with Spinoza’s modes; that is why I use 
the terms mode and modal. In the analogy with 
Spinoza, his one substance is for me the one under- 
lying activity of realisation individualising itself in 
an interlocked plurality of modes. Thus, concrete 


Nd THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 103 


fact is process. Its primary analysis is into under- 
lying activity of prehension, and into realised pre- 
hensive events. Each event is an individual matter 
of fact issuing from an individualisation of the sub- 
strate activity. But individualisation does not mean 
substantial independence. 

An entity of which we become aware in sense 
perception is the terminus of our act of perception. 
I will call such an entity, a sense-object. For exam- 
ple, green of a definite shade is a sense-object; so 
is a sound of definite quality and pitch; and so is a 
definite scent; and a definite quality of touch. The 
way in which such an entity is related to space dur- 
ing a definite lapse of time is complex. I will say 
that a sense-object has ingression into space-time. 
The cognitive perception of a sense-object is the 
awareness of the prehensive unification (into a 
standpoint 4) of various modes of various sense- 
objects, including the sense-object in question. The 
standpoint 4 is, of course, a region of space-time; 
that is to say, it is a volume of space through a dura- 
tion of time. But as one entity, this standpoint is 
a unit of realised experience. A mode of a sense- 
object at d (as abstracted from the sense-object 
whose relationship to 4 the mode is conditioning) 
is the aspect from 4 of some other region B. Thus 
the sense-object is present in 4 with the mode of 
location in B. Thus if green be the sense- object i in 
question, green is not simply at 4 where it is being 
perceived, nor is it simply at B where it is perceived 
as located; but it is present at 4 with the mode of 
location in B. There is no particular mystery about 
this. You have only got to look into a mirror and 


104 SCIENCE AND ‘THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


to see the image in it of some green leaves behind 
your back. For you at 4 there will be green; but 
not green simply at 4 where you are. ‘The green 
at d will be green with the mode of having loca- 
tion at the image of the leaf behind the mirror. 
Then turn round and look at the leaf. You are 
now perceiving the green in the same way as you 
did before, except that now the green has the mode 
of being located in the actual leaf. I am merely 
describing what we do perceive: we are aware of 
green as being one element in a prehensive unifica- 
tion of sense-objects; each sense-object, and among 
them green, having its particular mode, which is 
expressible as location elsewhere. ‘There are various 
types of modal location. For example, sound is 
voluminous: it fills a hall, and so sometimes does 
diffused colour. But the modal location of a colour 
may be that of being the remote boundary of a 
volume, as for example the colours on the walls 
of a room. ‘Thus primarily space-time is the locus 
of the modal ingression of sense-objects. This is 
the reason why space and time (if for simplicity 
we disjoin them) are given in their entireties. For 
each volume of space, or each lapse of time, includes 
in its essence aspects of all volumes of space, or 
of all lapses of time. The difficulties of philosophy 
in respect to space and time are founded on the 
error of considering them as primarily the loci of 
simple locations. Perception is simply the cognition 
of prehensive unification; or more shortly, percep- 
tion is cognition of prehension. ‘The actual world 
is a manifold of prehensions; and a ‘prehension’ is 
a ‘prehensive occasion’; and a prehensive occasion 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 105 


is the most concrete finite entity, conceived as what 
it is in itself and for itself, and not as from its aspect 
in the essence of another such occasion. Prehensive 
unification might be said to have simple location 
in its volume 4 But this would be a mere tautol- 
ogy. For space and time are simply abstractions 
from the totality of prehensive unifications as mutu- 
ally patterned in each other. ‘Thus a prehension 
has simple location at the volume 4 in the same 
way as that in which a man’s face fits on to the 
smile which spreads over it. There is, so far as 
we have gone, more sense in saying that an act of 
perception has simple location; for it may be con- 
ceived as being simply at the cognised prehension. 

There are more entities involved in nature than 
the mere sense-objects, so far considered. But, 
allowing for the necessity of revision consequent on 
a more complete point of view, we can frame our 
answer to Berkeley’s question as to the character 
of the reality to be assigned to nature. He states 
it to be the reality of ideas in mind. A complete 
metaphysic which has attained to some notion of 
mind, and to some notion of ideas, may perhaps 
ultimately adopt that view. It is unnecessary for 
the purpose of these lectures to ask such a funda- 
mental question. We can be content with a pro- 
visional realism in which nature is conceived as a 
complex of prehensive unifications. Space and time 
exhibit the general scheme of interlocked relations 
of these prehensions. You cannot tear any one of 
them out of its context. Yet each one of them 
within its context has all the reality that attaches to 
the whole complex. Conversely, the totality has 


106 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cx. 


the same reality as each prehension; for each pre- 
hension unifies the modalities to be ascribed, from 
its standpoint, to every part of the whole. A pre- 
hension is a process of unifying. Accordingly, 
nature is a process of expansive development, neces: 
sarily transitional from prehension to prehension. 
What is achieved is thereby passed beyond, but it 
is also retained as having aspects of itself present 
to prehensions which lie beyond it. 

Thus nature is a structure of evolving processes. 
The reality is the process. It is nonsense to ask 
if the colour red is real. ‘The colour red is ingredi- 
ent in the process of realisation. The realities of 
nature are the prehensions in nature, that is to say, 
the events in nature. 

Now that we have cleared space and time from 
the taint of simple location, we may partially aban- 
don the awkward term prehension. This term was 
introduced to signify the essential unity of an event, 
namely, the event as one entity, and not as a mere 
assemblage of parts or of ingredients. It is neces- 
sary to understand that space-time is nothing else 
than a system of pulling together of assemblages 
into unities. But the word event just means one 
of these spatio-temporal unities. Accordingly, it 
may be used instead of the term ‘prehension’ as 
meaning the thing prehended. 

An event has contemporaries. ‘This means that 
an event mirrors within itself the modes of its con- 
temporaries as a display of immediate achievement. 
An event has a past. This means that an event 
mirrors within itself the modes of its predecessors, 
as memories which are fused into its own content. 


Iv] THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 107 


An event has a future. This means that an event 
mirrors within itself such aspects as the future 
throws back on to the present, or, in other words, 
as the present has determined concerning the future. 
Thus an event has anticipation: 


“The prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come.’ 


These conclusions are essential for any form of real- 
ism. For there is in the world for our cognisance, 
memory of the past, immediacy of realisation, and 
indication of things to come. 

In this sketch of an analysis more concrete than 
that of the scientific scheme of thought, I have 
started from our own psychological field, as it stands 
for our cognition. I take it for what it claims to 
be: the self-knowledge of our bodily event. I mean 
the total event, and not the inspection of the details 
of the body. This self-knowledge discloses a pre- 
hensive unification of modal presences of entities 
beyond itself. I generalise by the use of the prin- 
ciple that this total bodily event is on the same level 
as all other events, except for an unusual complexity 
and stability of inherent pattern. The strength of 
the theory of materialistic mechanism has been the 
demand, that no arbitrary breaks be introduced into 
nature, to eke out the collapse of an explanation. 
I accept this principle. But if you start from the 
immediate facts of our psychological experience, as 
surely an empiricist should begin, you are at once led 
to the organic conception of nature of which the 
description has been commenced in this lecture. 

Tt is the defect of the eighteenth century scientific 


108 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. Ivj 


scheme that it provides none of the elements which 
compose the immediate psychological experiences of 
mankind. Nor does it provide any elementary trace 
of the organic unity of a whole, from which the 
organic unities of electrons, protons, molecules, and 
living bodies can emerge. According to that scheme, 
there is no reason in the nature of things why por- 
tions of material should have any physical relations 
to each other. Let us grant that we cannot hope 
to be able to discern the laws of nature to be nec- 
essary. But we can hope to see that it is necessary 
that there should be an order of nature. The con- 
cept of the order of nature is bound up with the 
concept of nature as the locus of organisms in process 
of development. 


Note. In connection with the latter portion of this chapter a 
sentence from Descartes’ ‘Reply to Objections . . . against the 
Meditations’ is interesting:— ‘Hence the idea of the sun will be 
the sun itself existing in the mind, not indeed formally, as it exists 
in the sky, but objectively, z.e., in the way in which objects are wont 
to exist in the mind; and this mode of being is truly much less 
perfect than that in which things exist outside the mind, but it is 
not on that account mere nothing, as I have already said.’ [Reply 
to Objections I, Translation by Haldane and Ross, vol. ii, p. 10.] 
I find difficulty in reconciling this theory of ideas (with which I 
agree) with other parts of the Cartesian philosophy, 


CHAP LER. 
THE ROMANTIC REACTION 


My last lecture described the influence upon the 
eighteenth century of the narrow and efficient scheme 
of scientific concepts which it had inherited from its 
predecessor. ‘That scheme was the product of a 
mentality which found the Augustinian theoloyy 
extremely congenial. The Protestant Calvinism and 
the Catholic Jansenism exhibited man as helpless to 
co-operate with Irresistible Grace: the contempo- 
rary scheme of science exhibited man as helpless to 
co-operate with the irresistible mechanism of nature. 
- The mechanism of God and the mechanism of mat- 
ter were the monstrous issues of limited metaphysics 
and clear logical intellect. Also the seventeenth 
century had genius, and cleared the world of mud- 
dled thought. The eighteenth century continued the 
work of clearance, with ruthless efficiency. The sci- 
entific scheme has lasted longer than the theological 
scheme. Mankind soon lost interest in Irresistible 
Grace; but it quickly appreciated the competent 
engineering which was due to science. Also in the 
first quarter of the eighteenth century, George 
Berkeley launched his philosophical criticism against 
the whole basis of the system. He failed to disturb 
the dominant current of thought. In my last lecture 
109 


110 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cx. 


I developed a parallel line of argument, which would 
lead to a system of thought basing nature upon the 
concept of organism, and not upon the concept of 
matter. In the present lecture, I propose in the 
first place to consider how the concrete educated 
thought of men has viewed this opposition of 
mechanism and organism. It is in literature that 
the concrete outlook of humanity receives its expres- 
sion. Accordingly it is to literature that we must 
look, particularly in its more concrete forms, namely 
in poetry and in drama, if we hope to discover the 
inward thoughts of a generation. 

We quickly find that the Western peoples exhibit 
on a colossal scale a peculiarity which is popularly 
supposed to be more especially characteristic of the 
Chinese. Surprise is often expressed that a China- 
man can be of two religions, a Confucian for some 
occasions and a Buddhist for other occasions. 
Whether this is true of China I do not know; nor 
do I know whether, if true, these two attitudes are 
really inconsistent. But there can be no doubt that 
an analogous fact is true of the West, and that the 
two attitudes involved are inconsistent. A scientific 
realism, based on mechanism, is conjoined with an 
unwavering belief in the world of men and of the 
higher animals as being composed of self-determin- 
ing organisms. This radical inconsistency at the 
basis of modern thought accounts for much that is 
half-hearted and wavering in our civilisation. It 
would be going too far to say that it distracts 
thought. It enfeebles it, by reason of the incon- 
sistency lurking in the background. After all, the 
men of the Middle Ages were in pursuit of an excel- 


7] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 111 


lency of which we have nearly forgotten the exist- 
ence. They set before themselves the ideal of the 
attainment of a harmony of the understanding. We 
are content with superficial orderings from diverse 
arbitrary starting points. For instance, the enter- 
prises produced by the individualistic energy of the 
European peoples presuppose physical actions 
directed to final causes. But the science which is 
employed in their development is based on a philos- 
ophy which asserts that physical causation is 
supreme, and which disjoins the physical cause from 
the final end. It is not popular to dwell on the 
absolute contradiction here involved. It is the fact, 
however you gloze it over with phrases. Of course, 
we find in the eighteenth century Paley’s famous 
argument, that mechanism presupposes a God who 
is the author of uature. But even before Paley 
put the argument into its final form, Hume had 
written the retort, that the God whom you will find 
will be the sort of God who makes that mechanism. 
In other words, that mechanism can, at most, pre- 
suppose a mechanic, and not merely a mechanic but 
its mechanic. The only way of mitigating mecha- 
nism is by the discovery that it is not mechanism. 

When we leave apologetic theology, and come to 
ordinary literature, we find, as we might expect, 
that the scientific outlook is in general simply 
ignored. So far as the mass of literature is con- 
cerned, science might never have been heard of. 
Until recently nearly all writers have been soaked 
in classical and renaissance literature. For the most 
part, neither philosophy nor science interested them, 
and their minds were trained to ignore them. 


112 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [ch. 


There are exceptions to this sweeping statement; 
and, even if we confine ourselves to English litera- 
ture, they concern some of the greatest names; also 
the indirect influence of science has been consider- 
able. 

A side light on this distracting inconsistency in 
modern thought is obtained by examining some of 
those great serious poems in English literature, 
whose general scale gives them a didactic character. 
The relevant poems are Milton’s Paradise Lost, 
Pope’s Essay on Man, Wordsworth’s Excursion, 
Tennyson’s In Memoriam. Milton, though he is 
writing after the Restoration, voices the theological 
aspect of the earlier portion of his century, 
untouched by the influence of the scientific material- 
ism. Pope’s poem represents the effect on popular 
thought of the intervening sixty years which includes 
the first period of assured triumph for the scien- 
tific movement. Wordsworth in his whole being 
expresses a conscious reaction against the mentality 
of the eighteenth century. This mentality means 
nothing else than the acceptance of the scientific 
ideas at their full face value. Wordsworth was not 
bothered by any intellectual antagonism. What 
moved him was a moral repulsion. He felt that 
something had been left out, and that what had 
been left out comprised everything that was most 
important. Tennyson is the mouthpiece of the 
attempts of the waning romantic movement in the 
second quarter of the nineteenth century to come 
to terms with science. By this time the two ele- 
ments in modern thought had disclosed their funda- 
mental divergence by their jarring interpretations 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 113 


of the course of nature and the life of man. Tenny- 
son stands in this poem as the perfect example of 
the distraction which I have already mentioned. 
There are opposing visions of the world, and both 
of them command his assent by appeals to ultimate 
intuitions from which there seems no escape. Tenny- 
son goes to the heart of the difficulty. It is the 
problem of mechanism which appalls him, 


“The stars,’ she whispers, ‘blindly run.’ ” 


This line states starkly the whole philosophic prob- 
lem implicit in the poem. Each molecule blindly 
runs. The human body is a collection of molecules. 
Therefore, the human body blindly runs, and there- 
fore there can be no individual responsibility for the 
actions of the body. If you once accept that the 
molecule is definitely determined to be what it is, 
independently of any determination by reason of the 
total organism of the body, and if you further admit 
that the blind run is settled by the general mechani- 
cal laws, there can be no escape from this conclusion. 
But mental experiences are derivative from the 
actions of the body, including of course its internal 
behaviour. Accordingly, the sole function of the 
mind is to have at least some of its experiences 
settled for it, and to add such others as may be 
open to it independently of the body’s motions, 
internal and external. 

There are then two possible theories as to the 
mind. You can either deny that it can supply for 
itself any experiences other than those provided for 
it by the body, or you can admit them. 

If you refuse to admit the additional experiences, 


114 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


then all individual moral responsibility is swept 
away. If you do admit them, then a human being 
may be responsible for the state of his mind though 
he has no responsibility for the actions of his body. 
The enfeeblement of thought in the modern world 
is illustrated by the way in which this plain issue 
is avoided in Tennyson’s poem. ‘There is something 
kept in the background, a skeleton in the cupboard. 
He touches on almost every religious and scientific 
problem, but carefully avoids more than a passing 
allusion to this one. 

This very problem was in full debate at the date 
of the poem. John Stuart Mill was maintaining his 
doctrine of determinism. In this doctrine volitions 
are determined by motives, and motives are expres: 
sible in terms of antecedent conditions including 
states of mind as well as states of the body. 

It is obvious that this doctrine affords no escape 
from the dilemma presented by a thoroughgoing 
mechanism. For if the volition affects the state of 
the body, then the molecules in the body do not 
blindly run. If the volition does not affect the state 
of the body, the mind is still left in its uncomforta- 
ble position. 

Mill’s doctrine is generally accepted, especially 
among scientists, as though in some way it allowed 
you to accept the extreme doctrine of materialistic 
mechanism, and yet mitigated its unbelievable con- 
sequences. It does nothing of the sort. Either the 
bodily molecules blindly run, or they do not. If 
they do blindly run, the mental states are irrelevant 
in discussing the bodily actions. 

I have stated the arguments concisely, because in 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 115 


truth the issue is a very simple one. Prolonged 
discussion is merely a source of confusion. ‘The 
question as to the metaphysical status of molecules 
does not come in. ‘The statement that they are 
mere formulae has no bearing on the argument. 
For presumably the formulae mean something. If 
they mean nothing, the whole mechanical doctrine 
is likewise without meaning, and the question drops. 
But if the formulae mean anything, the argument 
applies to exactly what they do mean. ‘The tradi- 
tional way of evading the difficulty—other than the 
simple way of ignoring it—is to have recourse to 
some form of what is now termed ‘vitalism.’ This 
doctrine is really a compromise. It allows a free 
run to mechanism throughout the whole of inani- 
mate nature, and holds that the mechanism is par- 
tially mitigated within living bodies. I feel that 
this theory is an unsatisfactory compromise. ‘The 
gap between living and dead matter is too vague 
and problematical to bear the weight of such an 
arbitrary assumption, which involves an essential 
dualism somewhere. 

The doctrine which I am maintaining is that the 
whole concept of materialism only applies to very 
abstract entities, the products of logical discernment. 
The concrete enduring entities (aré) organisms, so 
that the plan of the whole influences the very char- 
acters of the various subordinate organisms which 
enter into it. In the case of an animal, the mental 
states enter into the plan of the total organism and 
thus modify the plans of the successive subordinate 
organisms until the ultimate smallest organisms, 
such as electrons, are reached. Thus an electron 





116 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


within a living body is different from an electron 
outside it, by reason of the plan of the body. ‘The 
electron blindly runs either within or without the 
body; but it runs within the body in accordance with 
its character within the body; that is to say, in 
accordance with the general plan of the body, and 
this plan includes the mental state. But the prin- 
ciple of modification is perfectly general throughout 
nature, and represents no property peculiar to living 
bodies. In subsequent lectures it will be explained 
that this doctrine involves the abandonment of the 
traditional scientific materialism, and the substitution 
of an alternative doctrine of organism. 

I shall not discuss Mill’s determinism, as it lies 
outside the scheme of these lectures. The foregoing 
discussion has been directed to secure that either 
determinism or free will shall have some relevance, 
unhampered by the difficulties introduced by materi- 
alistic mechanism, or by the compromise of vital- 
ism. JI would term the doctrine of these lectures, 
the theory of organic mechanism. In this theory, 
the molecules may blindly run in accordance with 
the general laws, but the molecules differ in their 
intrinsic characters according to the general organic 
plans of the situations in which they find them- 
selves. 

The discrepancy between the materialistic mech- 
anism of science and the moral intuitions, which are 
presupposed in the concrete affairs of life, only 
gradually assumed its true importance as the cen- 
turies advanced. ‘The different tones of the succes- 
sive epochs to which the poems, already mentioned, 
belong are curiously reflected in their opening pas- 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 117 


sages. Milton ends his introduction with the 
prayer, ; 
“That to the height of this great argument 


I may. assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the ways of God to men.’ 


To judge from many modern writers on Milton, we 
might imagine that the Paradise Lost and the Para- 
dise Regained were written as a series of experi- 
ments in blank verse. This was certainly not Mil- 
ton’s view of his work. To ‘justify the ways of 
God to men’ was very much his main object. He 
recurs to the same idea in the Samson Agonistes, 


‘Just are the ways of God 
_ And justifiable to men.’ 


We note the assured volume of confidence, untrou- 
bled by the coming scientific avalanche. The actual 
date of the publication of the Paradise Lost lies 
just beyond the epoch to which it belongs. It is the 
swan-song of a passing world of untroubled certi- 
tude. 

A comparison between Pope’s Essay on Man and 
the Paradise Lost exhibits the change of tone in 
English thought in the fifty or sixty years which 
separate the age of Milton from the age of Pope. 
Milton addresses his poem to God, Pope’s poem 
is addressed to Lord Bolingbroke, 


‘Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things 
To low ambition and the pride of kings. 

Let us (since life can little more supply 
Than just to look about us and to die) 
Expatiate free o’er all this scene of man; 

A mighty maze! but not without a plan.’ 


118 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


Compare the jaunty assurance of Pope, 


‘A mighty maze! but not without a plan,’ 
with Milton’s 


‘Just are the ways of God 
And justifiable to men.’ 


But the real point to notice is that Pope as well as 
Milton was untroubled by the great perplexity which 
haunts the modern world. The clue which Milton 
followed was to dwell on the ways of God in deal- 
ings with man. Two generations later we find Pope 
equally confident that the enlightened methods of 
modern science provided a plan adequate as a map 
of the ‘mighty maze.’ 

Wordsworth’s Excursion is the next English poem 
on the same subject. A prose preface tells us that 
itis a fragment of a larger projected work, described 
as ‘A philosophical poem containing views of Man, 
Nature, and Society.’ 

Very characteristically the poem begins with the 
line, 


‘Twas summer, and the sun had mounted high.’ 


Thus the romantic reaction started neither with 
God nor with Lord Bolingbroke, but with nature. 
We are here witnessing a conscious reaction against 
the whole tone of the eighteenth century. That cen- 
tury approached nature with the abstract analysis 
of science, whereas Wordsworth opposes to the 
scientific abstractions his full concrete experience. 

A generation of religious revival and of scientific 
advance lies between the Excursion and Tennyson’s 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 119 


In Memoriam. ‘The earlier poets had solved the 
perplexity by ignoring it. That course was not open 
to Tennyson. Accordingly his poem begins thus: 

‘Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 

Whom we, that have not seen Thy face, 

By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 

Believing where we cannot prove.’ 
The note of perplexity is struck at once. The nine- 
teenth century has been a perplexed century, in a 
sense which is not true of any of its predecessors of 
the modern period. In the earlier times there were 
opposing camps, bitterly at variance on questions 
which they deemed fundamental. But, except for a 
few stragglers, either camp was whole-hearted. 
The importance of Tennyson’s ‘poem lies in the fact 
that it exactly expressed the character of its period. 
Each individual was divided against himself. In 
the earlier times, the deep thinkers were the clear 
thinkers,—Descartes, Spinoza, Locke, Leibniz. 
They knew exactly what they meant and said it. 
In the nineteenth century, some of the deeper 
thinkers among theologians and philosophers were 
muddled thinkers. Their assent was claimed by 
incompatible doctrines; and their eftorts at recon- 
ciliation produced inevitable confusion. 

Matthew Arnold, even more than Tennyson, was 
the poet who expressed this mood of individual dis- 
traction which was so characteristic of this century. 
Compare with In Memoriam the closing lines of 
Arnold’s Dover Beach: 


‘And we are here as on a darkling plain 
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, 
Where ignorant armies clash by night.’ 


120 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


Cardinal Newman in his 4 pologia pro Vita Sua men- 
tions it as a peculiarity of Pusey, the great Anglican 
ecclesiastic, ‘He was haunted by no intellectual per- 
plexities.’ In this respect Pusey recalls Milton, 
Pope, Wordsworth, as in contrast with Tennyson, 
Clough, Matthew Arnold, and Newman himself. 

So far as concerns English literature we find, as 
might be anticipated, the most interesting criticism 
of the thoughts of science among the leaders of the 
romantic reaction which accompanied and succeeded 
the epoch of the French Revolution. In English 
literature, the deepest thinkers of this school were 
Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Shelley. Keats is an 
example of literature untouched by science. We 
may neglect Coleridge’s attempt at an explicit philo- 
sophical formulation. It was influential in his own 
generation; but in these lectures it is my object only 
to mention those elements of the thought of the 
past which stand for all time. Even with this limi. 
tation, only a selection is possible. For our purposes 
Coleridge is only important by his influence on 
Wordsworth. Thus Wordsworth and Shelley 
remain. 

Wordsworth was passionately absorbed in nature, 
It has been said of Spinoza, that he was drunk with 
God. It is equally true that Wordsworth was drunk 
with nature. But he was a thoughtful, well-read 
man, with philosophical interests, and sane even to 
the point of prosiness. In addition, he was a genius. 
He weakens his evidence by his dislike of science. 
We all remember his scorn of the poor man whom 
he somewhat hastily accuses of peeping and botanis- 
ing on his mother’s grave. Passage after passage 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 121 


could be quoted from him, expressing this repul- 
sion. In this respect, his characteristic thought 
can be summed up in his phrase, ‘We murder to 
dissect.’ 

In this latter passage, he discloses the intellectual 
basis of his criticism of science. He alleges against 
science its absorption in abstractions. His consistent 
theme is that the important facts of nature elude 
the scientific method. It is important therefore to 
ask, what Wordsworth found in nature that failed 
to receive expression in science. I ask this question 
in the interest of science itself ; for one main position 
in these lectures is a protest against the idea that 
the abstractions of science are irreformable and 
unalterable. Now it is emphatically not the case 
that Wordsworth hands over inorganic matter to 
the mercy of science, and concentrates on the faith 
that in the living organism there is some element 
that science cannot analyse. Of course he recog- 
nises, what no one doubts, that in some sense living 
things are different from lifeless things. But that 
is not his main point. It is the brooding presence 
of the hills which haunts him. His theme is nature 
in solido, that is to say, he dwells on that mysterious 
presence of surrounding things, which imposes itself 
on any separate element that we set up as an indi- 
vidual for its own sake. He always grasps the 
whole of nature as involved in the tonality of the 
particular instance. That is why he laughs with the 
daffodils, and finds in the primrose thoughts ‘too 
deep for tears.’ 

Wordsworth’s greatest poem is, by far, the first 
book of The Prelude. It is pervaded by this sense 


122 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


of the haunting presences of nature. A series of 
magnificent passages, too long for quotation, express 
this idea. Of course, Wordsworth is a poet writing 
a poem, and is not concerned with dry philosophical 
statements. But it would hardly be possible to 
express more clearly a feeling for nature, as exhibit- 
ing entwined prehensive unities, each suffused with 
modal presences of others: 


“Ye Presences of Nature in the sky 

And on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills! 
And Souls of lonely places! can I think 

A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed 
Such ministry, when ye through many a year 
Haunting me thus among my boyish sports, 
On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, 
Impressed upon all forms the characters 

Of danger or desire; and thus did make 

The surface of the universal earth, 

With triumph and delight, with hope and fear, 
Work like a sea? . . .’ 


In thus citing Wordsworth, the point which I 
wish to make is that we forget how strained and 
paradoxical is the view of nature which modern 
science imposes on our thoughts. Wordsworth, to 
the height of genius, expresses the concrete facts 
of our apprehension, facts which are distorted in 
the scientific analysis. Is it not possible that the 
standardised concepts of science are only valid 
within narrow limitations, perhaps too narrow for 
science itself? 

Shelley’s attitude to science was at the opposite 
pole to that of Wordsworth. He loved it, and is 
never tired of expressing in poetry the thoughts 
which it suggests. It symbolises to him joy, and 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 123 


peace, and illumination. What the hills were to the 
youth of Wordsworth, a chemical laboratory was 
to Shelley. It is unfortunate that Shelley’s literary 
critics have, in this respect, so little of Shelley in 
their own mentality. They tend to treat as a casual 
oddity of Shelley’s nature what was, in fact, part 
of the main structure of his mind, permeating his 
poetry through and through. If Shelley had been 
born a hundred years later, the twentieth century 
would have seen a Newton among chemists. 

For the sake of estimating the value of Shelley’s 
evidence it is important to realise this absorption 
of his mind in scientific ideas. It can be illustrated 
by lyric after lyric. I will choose one poem only, 
the fourth act of his Prometheus Unbound. The 
Earth and the Moon converse together in the lan- 
guage of accurate science. Physical experiments 
guide his imagery. For example, the Earth’s excla- 
mation, 


‘The vaporous exultation not to be confined!’ 


is the poetic transcript of ‘the expansive force of 
gases, as it is termed in books on science. Again, 
take the Earth’s stanza, 


‘I spin beneath my pyramid of night, 

Which points into the heavens,—dreaming delight, 

Murmuring victorious joy in my enchanted sleep; 

As a youth lulled in love-dreams faintly sighing, 

Under the shadow of his beauty lying, 

Which round his rest a watch of light and warmth doth 
keep.’ 


This stanza could only have been written by 
someone with a definite geometrical diagram before 


124 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


his inward eye—a diagram which it has often been 
my business to demonstrate to mathematical classes. 
As evidence, note especially the last line which gives 
poetical imagery to the light surrounding night’s 
pyramid. This idea could not occur to anyone with- 
out the diagram. But the whole poem and other 
poems are permeated with touches of this kind. 

Now the poet, so sympathetic with science, so 
absorbed in its ideas, can simply make nothing of 
the doctrine of secondary qualities which is funda- 
mental to its concepts. For Shelley nature retains 
its beauty and its colour. Shelley’s nature is in its 
essence a nature of organisms, functioning with the 
full content of our perceptual experience. We are 
so used to ignoring the implication of orthodox sci- 
entific doctrine, that it is dificult to make evident 
the criticism upon it which is thereby implied. If 
anybody could have treated it seriously, Shelley 
would have done so. 

Furthermore Shelley is entirely at one with 
Wordsworth as to the interfusing of the Presence 
in nature. Here is the opening stanza of his poem 
entitled Mont Blanc: 


‘The everlasting universe of Things 

Flows through the Mind, and rolls its rapid waves, 
Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom— 
Now lending splendour, where from secret springs 
The source of human thought its tribute brings 
Of waters,—with a sound but half its own, 

Such as a feeble brook will oft assume 

In the wild woods, among the Mountains lone, 
Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, 

Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river 
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.’ 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 125 


Shelley has written these lines with explicit refer- 
ence to some form of idealism, Kantian or Berke- 
leyan or Platonic. But however you construe him, 
he is here an emphatic witness to a prehensive uni- 
fication as constituting the very being of nature. 

Berkeley, Wordsworth, Shelley are representative 
of the intuitive refusal seriously to accept the 
abstract materialism of science. 

There is an interesting difference in the treatment 
of nature by Wordsworth and by Shelley, which 
brings forward the exact questions we have got to 
think about. Shelley thinks of nature as changing, 
dissolving, transforming as it were at a fairy’s 


touch. The leaves fly before the West Wind 


‘Like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.’ 


In his poem The Cloud it is the transformations of 
water which excite his imagination. The subject of 
the poem is the endless, eternal, elusive change of 
things: 


‘I change but ] cannot die.’ 


This is one aspect of nature, its elusive change: 
a change not merely to be expressed by locomotion, 
but a change of inward character. ‘This is where 
Shelley places his emphasis, on the change of what 
cannot die. 

Wordsworth was born among hills; hills mostly 
barren of trees, and thus showing the minimum of 
change with the seasons. He was haunted by the 
enormous permanences of nature. For him change 
is an incident which shoots across a background of 
endurance, 


126 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


‘Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides.’ 

Every scheme for the analysis of nature has to 
face these two facts, change and endurance. ‘There 
is yet a third fact to be placed by it, eternality, I 
will call it. “The mountain endures. But when after 
ages it has been worn away, it has gone. Ifa replica 
arises, it is yet anew mountain. A colour is eternal. 
It haunts time like a spirit. It comes and it goes. 
But where it comes, it is the same colour. It neither 
survives nor does it live. It appears when it is 
wanted. The mountain has to time and space a 
different relation from that which colour has. In 
the previous lecture, I was chiefly considering the 
relation to space-time of things which, in my sense 
of the term, are eternal. It was necessary to do 
so before we can pass to the consideration of the 
things which endure. 

Also we must recollect the basis of our procedure. 
I hold that philosophy is the critic of abstractions. 
Its function is the double one, first of harmonising 
them by assigning to them their right relative status 
as abstractions, and secondly of completing them 
by direct comparison with more concrete intuitions 
of the universe, and thereby promoting the forma- 
tion of more complete schemes of thought. It is 
in respect to this comparison that the testimony of 
great poets is of such importance. Their survival 
is evidence that they express deep intuitions of man- 
kind penetrating into what is universal in concrete 
fact. Philosophy is not one among the sciences with 
its own little scheme of abstractions which it works 
away at perfecting and improving. It is the survey 


4] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 12) 


of sciences, with the special objects of their harmony, 
and of their completion. It brings’to this task, not 
only the evidence of the separate sciences, but also 
its own appeal to concrete experience. It confronts 
the sciences with concrete fact. 

The literature of the nineteenth century, especially 
its English poetic literature, is a witness to the dis- 
cord between the aesthetic intuitions of mankind and 
the mechanism of science. Shelley brings vividly 
before us the elusiveness of the eternal objects of 
sense as they haunt the change which infects under- 
lying organisms. Wordsworth is the poet of nature 
as being the field of enduring permanences carrying 
within themselves a message of tremendous signifi- 
cance. The eternal objects are also there for him, 


“The light that never was, on sea or land.’ 


Both Shelley and Wordsworth emphatically bear wit- 
ness that nature cannot be divorced from its aesthetic 
values; and that these values arise from the cumula- 
tion, in some sense, of the brooding presence of the 
whole on to its various parts. Thus we gain from 
-the poets the doctrine that a philosophy of nature 
must concern itself at least with these six notions: 
change, value, eternal objects, endurance, organism, 
interfusion. 

We see that the literary romantic movement at 
the beginning of the nineteenth century, just as much 
as Berkeley’s philosophical idealistic movement a 
hundred years earlier, refused to be confined within 
the materialistic concepts of the orthodox scientific 
theory. We know also that when in these lectures 
we come to the twentieth century, we shall find a 


128 SCIENCE AND ‘THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


movement in science itself to reorganise its concepts, 
driven thereto by its own intrinsic development. 

It is, however, impossible to proceed until we 
have settled whether this refashioning of ideas 1s 
to be carried out on an objectivist basis or on a sub- 
jectivist basis. By a subjectivist basis I mean the 
belief that the nature of our immediate experience 
is the outcome of the perceptive peculiarities of the 
subject enjoying the experience. In other words, I 
mean that for this theory what is perceived is not 
a partial vision of a complex of things generally inde- 
pendent of that act of cognition; but that it merely 
is the expression of the individual peculiarities of the 
cognitive act. Accordingly what is common to the 
multiplicity of cognitive acts is the ratiocination con- 
nected with them. ‘Thus, though there is a common 
world of thought associated with our sense-percep- 
tions, there is no common world to think about. 
What we do think about is a common conceptual 
world applying indifferently to our individual experi- 
ences which are strictly personal to ourselves. Such 
a conceptual world will ultimately find its complete 
expression in the equations of applied mathematics. 
This is the extreme subjectivist position. There is 
of course the half-way house of those who believe 
that our perceptual experience does tell us of a com- 
mon objective world; but that the things perceived 
are merely the outcome for us of this world, and 
are not in themselves elements in the common world 
itself. 

Also there is the objectivist position. This creed 
is that the actual elements perceived by our senses 
are in themselves the elements of a common world; 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 129 


and that this world is a complex of things, including 
indeed our acts of cognition, but transcending them. 
According to this point of view the things experi- 
enced are to be distinguished from our knowledge of 
them. So far as there is dependence, the things pave 
the way for the cognition, rather than vice versa. 
But the point is that the actual things experienced 
enter into a common world which transcends knowl- 
edge, though it includes knowledge. ‘The intermedi- 
ate subjectivists would hold that the things experi- 
enced only indirectly enter into the common world 
by reason of their dependence on the subject who is 
cognising. The objectivist holds that the things 
experienced and the cognisant subject enter into the 
common world on equal terms. In these lectures 
I am giving the outline of what I consider to be 
the essentials of an objectivist philosophy adapted 
to the requirement of science and to the concrete 
experience of mankind. Apart from the detailed 
criticism of the difficulties raised by subjectivism in 
any form, my broad reasons for distrusting it are 
three in number. One reason arises from the direct 
interrogation of our perceptive experience. It 
appears from this interrogation that we are within 
a world of colours, sounds, and other sense-objects, 
related in space and time to enduring objects such 
as stones, trees, and human bodies. We seem to be 
ourselves elements of this world in the same sense 
as are the other things which we perceive. But the 
subjectivist, even the moderate intermediate subjec- 
tivist, makes this world, as thus described, depend 
on us, in a way which directly traverses our naive 
experience. I hold that the ultimate appeal is to 


J 


130 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


naive experience and that is why I lay such stress 
on the evidence of poetry. My point is, that in our 
sense-experience we know away from and beyond 
our own personality; whereas the subjectivist holds 
that in such experience we merely know about our 
own personality. Even the intermediate subjectiv- 
ist places our personality between the world we know 
of and the common world which he admits. The 
world we know of is for him the internal strain of 
our personality under the stress of the common 
world which lies behind. 

My second reason for distrusting subjectivism is 
based on the particular content of experience. Our 
historical knowledge tells us of ages in the past 
when, so far as we can see, no living being existed 
on earth. Again it also tells us of countless star- 
systems, whose detailed history remains beyond our 
ken. Consider even the moon and the earth. What 
is going on within the interior of the earth, and 
on the far side of the moon! Our perceptions lead 
us to infer that there is something happening in the 
stars, something happening within the earth, and 
something happening on the far side of the moon. 
Also they tell us that in remote ages there were 
things happening. But all these things which it 
appears certainly happened, are either unknown in 
detail, or else are reconstructed by inferential evi- 
dence. In the face of this content of our personal 
experience, it is difficult to believe that the experi- 
enced world is an attribute of our own personality. 
My third reason is based upon the instinct for action. 
Just as sense-perception seems to give knowledge of 
what lies beyond individuality, so action seems to 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 131 


issue in an instinct for self-transcendence. ‘The activ- 
ity passes beyond self into the known transcendent 
world. It is here that final ends are of importance. 
For it is not activity urged from behind, which 
passes out into the veiled world of the intermediate 
subjectivist. It is activity directed to determinate 
ends in the known world; and yet it is activity trans- 
cending self and it is activity within the known 
world. It follows therefore that the world, as 
known, transcends the subject which is cognisant 
of it. 

The subjectivist position has been popular among 
those who have been engaged in giving a philosophi- 
cal interpretation to the recent theories of relativity 
in physical science. ‘The dependence of the world 
of sense on the individual percipient seems an easy 
mode of expressing the meanings involved. Of 
course, with the exception of those who are content 
with themselves as forming the entire universe, soli- 
tary amid nothing, everyone wants to struggle back 
to some sort of objectivist position. I do not under- 
stand how a common world of thought can be estab- 
lished in the absence of a common world of sense. 
I will not argue this point in detail; but in the 
absence of a transcendence of thought, or a tran- 
scendence of the world of sense, it is difficult to see 
how the subjectivist is to divest himself of his soli- 
tariness. Nor does the intermediate subjectivist 
appear to get any help from his unknown world in 
the background. 

The distinction between realism and idealism does 
not coincide with that between objectivism and sub- 
jectivism. Both realists and idealists can start from 


132 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


an objective standpoint. They may beth agree that 
the world disclosed in sense-perception is a common 
world, transcending the individual recipient. But 
the objective idealist, when he comes to analyse 
what the reality of this world involves, finds that 
cognitive mentality is in some way inextricably con- 
cerned in every detail. This position the realist 
denies. Accordingly these two classes of objectiv- 
ists do not part company till they have arrived at 
the ultimate problem of metaphysics. There is a 
great deal which they share in common. This is 
why, in my last lecture, I said that I adopted a posi- 
tion of provisional realism. 

In the past, the objectivist position has been dis- 
torted by the supposed necessity of accepting the 
classical scientific materialism, with its doctrine of 
simple location. ‘This has necessitated the doctrine 
of secondary and primary qualities. Thus the sec- 
ondary qualities, such as the sense-objects, are dealt 
with on subjectivist principles. This is a half- 
hearted position which falls an easy prey to sub- 
jectivist criticism. 

If we are to include the secondary qualities in the 
common world, a very drastic reorganisation of our 
fundamental concept is necessary. It is an evident 
fact of experience that our apprehensions of the 
external world depend absolutely on the occurrences 
within the human body. By playing appropriate 
tricks on the body a man can be got to perceive, or 
not to perceive, almost anything. Some people 
express themselves as though bodies, brains, and 
nerves were the only real things in an entirely imagi- 
nary world. In other words, they treat bodies on 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 133 


objectivist principles, and the rest of the world on 
subjectivist principles. This will not do; especially, 
when we remember that it is the experimenter’s per- 
ception of another person’s body which is in question 
as evidence. 

But we have to admit that the body is the organ- 
ism whose states regulate our cognisance of the 
world. The unity of the perceptual field therefore 
must be a unity of bodily experience. In being 
aware of the bodily experience, we must thereby be 
aware of aspects of the whole spatio-temporal world 
as mirrored within the bodily life. This is the solu- 
tion of the problem which I gave in my last lecture. 
I will not repeat myself now, except to remind you 
that my theory involves the entire abandonment of 
the notion that simple location is the primary way 
in which things are involved in space-time. In a 
certain sense, everything is everywhere at all times. 
For every location involves an aspect of itself in 
every other location. Thus every spatio-temporal 
standpoint mirrors the world. 

If you try to imagine this doctrine in terms of 
our conventional views of space and time, which 
presuppose simple location, it is a great paradox. 
But if you think of it in terms of our naive experi- 
ence, it is a mere transcript of the obvious facts. 
You are in a certain place perceiving things. Your 
perception takes place where you are, and is entirely 
dependent on how your body is functioning. But 
this functioning of the body in one place, exhibits 
for your cognisance an aspect of the distant environ- 
ment, fading away into the general knowledge that 
there are things bevond. If this cognisance conveys 


134 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD Lcu 


knowledge of a transcendent world, it must be 
because the event which is the bodily life unifies in 
itself aspects of the universe. 

This is a doctrine extremely consonant with the 
vivid expression of personal experience which we 
find in the nature-poetry of imaginative writers such 
as Wordsworth or Shelley. The brooding, imme- 
diate presences of things are an obsession to Words- 
worth. What the theory does do is to edge cogni- 
tive mentality away from being the necessary sub- 
stratum of the unity of experience. That unity is 
now placed in the unity of an event. Accompenying 
this unity, there may or there may not be cognition. 

At this point we come back to the great question 
which was posed before us by our examination of 
the evidence afforded by the poetic insight of Words- 
worth and Shelley. This single question has 
expanded into a group of questions. What are 
enduring things, as distinguished from the eternal 
objects, such as colour and shape? How are they 
possible? What is their status and meaning in the 
universe? It comes to this: What is the status of 
the enduring stability of the order of nature? There 
is the summary answer, which refers nature to some 
greater reality standing behind it. This reality 
occurs in the history of thought under many names, 
The Absolute, Brahma, The Order of Heaven, 
God. ‘The delineation of final metaphysical truth 
is no part of this lecture. My point is that any 
summary conclusion jumping from our conviction 
of the existence of such an order of nature to the 
easy assumption that there is an ultimate reality 
which, in some unexplained way, is to be appealed 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 135 


to for the removal of perplexity, constitutes the 
great refusal of rationality to assert its rights. We 
have to search whether nature does not in its very 
being show itself as self-explanatory. By this I 
mean, that the sheer statement, of what things are, 
may contain elements explanatory of why things 
are. Such elements may be expected to refer to 
depths beyond anything which we can grasp with a 
clear apprehension. In a sense, all explanation must 
end in an ultimate arbitrariness. My demand is, 
that the ultimate arbitrariness of matter of fact from 
which our formulation starts should disclose the 
same general principles of reality, which we dimly 
discern as stretching away into regions beyond our 
explicit powers of discernment. Nature exhibits 
itself as exemplifying a philosophy of the evolution 
of organisms subject to determinate conditions. 
Examples of such conditions are the dimensions of 
space, the laws of nature, the determinate enduring 
entities, such as atoms and electrons, which exem- 
plify these laws. But the very nature of these 
entities, the very nature of their spatiality and tem- 
porality, should exhibit the arbitrariness of these 
conditions as the outcome of a wider evolution 
beyond nature itself, and within which nature is but 
a limited mode. 

One all-pervasive fact, inherent in the very char- 
acter of what is real is the transition of things, the 
passage one to another. ‘This passage is not a mere 
linear procession of discrete entities. However we 
fix a determinate entity, there is always a narrower 
determination of something which is presupposed in 
our first choice. Also there is always a wider deter- 


Fuith 
in 


foué 


136 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


mination into which our first choice fades by transi- 
tion beyond itself. The general aspect of nature 
is that of evolutionary expansiveness. ‘These unities, 
which I call events, are the emergence into actuality 
of something. How are we to characterise the 
something which thus emerges? ‘The name ‘event?’ 
given to such a unity, draws attention to the inherent 
transitoriness, combined with the actual unity. But 
this abstract word cannot be sufficient to characterise 
what the fact of the reality of an event is in itself. 
A moment’s thought shows us that no one idea can 
in itself be sufficient. For every idea which finds 
its significance in each event must represent some- 
thing which contributes to what realisation is in 
itself. Thus no one word can be adequate. But 
ronversely, nothing must be left out. Remembering 
the poetic rendering of our concrete experience, we 
see at once that the element of value, of being valu- 
able, of having value, of being an end in itself, of 
being something which is for its own sake, must not 
ye Omitted in any account of an event as the most 
>oncrete actual something. ‘Value’ is the word I use 
for the intrinsic reality of an event. Value is an 
element which permeates through and through the 
poetic view of nature. We have only to transfer 
to the very texture of realisation in itself that value 
which we recognise so readily in terms of human 
life. This is the secret of Wordsworth’s worship 
of nature. Realisation therefore is in itself the 
attainment of value. But there is no such thing as 
mere value. Value is the outcome of limitation. 
The definite finite entity is the selected mode which 
ts the shaping of attainment; apart from such shap- 


v] THE ROMANTIC REACTION 137 


ing into individual matter of fact there is no attain- 
ment. ‘The mere fusion of all that there is would 
be the nonentity of indefiniteness. The salvation of 
reality is its obstinate, irreducible, matter-of-fact 
entities, which are limited to be no other than them- 
selves. Neither science, nor art, nor creative action 
can tear itself away from obstinate, irreducible, lim- 
ited facts. The endurance of things has its signifi- 
cance in the self-retention of that which imposes 
itself as a definite attainment for its own sake. 
That which endures is limited, obstructive, intoler- 
ant, infecting its environment with its own aspects. 
But it is not self-sufficient. The aspects of all things 
enter into its very nature. It is only itself as draw- 
ing together into its own limitation the larger whole 
in which it finds itself. Conversely it is only itself 
by lending its aspects to this same environment in 
which it finds itself. The problem of evolution is 
the development of enduring harmonies of enduring 
shapes of value, which merge into higher attain- 
ments of things beyond themselves. Aesthetic 
attainment is interwoven in the texture of realisa- 
tion. [he endurance of an entity represents the 
attainment of a limited aesthetic success, though if 
we look beyond it to its external effects, it may 
represent an aesthetic failure. Even within itself, 
it may represent the conflict between a lower suc- 
cess and a higher failure. The conflict is the presage 
of disruption. 

The further discussion of the nature of endur- 
ing objects and of the conditions they require will be 
relevant to the consideration of the doctrine of evo- 
lution which dominated the latter half of the nine- 


138 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. v] 


teenth century. The point which in this lecture I 
have endeavoured to make clear is that the nature- 
poetry of the romantic revival was a protest on 
behalf of the organic view of nature, and also a 
protest against the exclusion of value from the 
essence of matter of fact. In this aspect of it, the 
romantic movement may be conceived as a revival 
of Berkeley’s protest which had been launched a 
hundred years earlier. The romantic reaction was 
a protest on behalf of value. 


CHAPTER VI 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 


My previous lecture was occupied with the compari- 
son of the nature-poetry of the romantic movement 
in England with the materialistic scientific philoso- 
phy inherited from the eighteenth century. It noted 
the entire disagreement of the two movements of 
thought. The lecture also continued the endeavour 
to outline an objectivist philosophy, capable of 
bridging the gap between science and that funda- 
mental intuition of mankind which finds its expres- 
sion in poetry and its practical exemplification in the 
presuppositions of daily life. As the nineteenth cen- 
tury passed on, the romantic movement died down. 
It did not die away, but it lost its clear unity of tidal 
stream, and dispersed itself into many estuaries as 
it coalesced with other human interests. The faith 
of the century was derived from three sources: one 
source was the romantic movement, showing itself 
in religious revival, in art, and in political aspiration: 
another source was the gathering advance of science 
which opened avenues of thought: the third source 
was the advance in technology which completely 
changed the conditions of human life. 

Each of these springs of faith had its origin in 
the previous period. ‘The French Revolution itself 
was the first child of romanticism in the form in 

139 


140 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


which it tinged Rousseau. James Watt obtained 
his patent for his steam-engine in 1769. The scien- 
tific advance was the glory of France and of French 
influence, throughout the same century. 

Also even during this earlier period, the streams 
interacted, coalesced, and antagonised each other. 
But it was not until the nineteenth century that the 
three-fold movement came to that full development 
and peculiar balance characteristic of the sixty years 
following the battle of Waterloo. 

What is peculiar and new to the century, differen- 
tiating it from all its predecessors, is its technology. 
It was not merely the introduction of some great 
isolated inventions. It is impossible not to feel that 
something more than that was involved. For exam- 
ple, writing was a greater invention than the steam- 
engine. But in tracing the continuous history of the 
growth of writing we find an immense difference 
from that of the steam-engine. We must, of course, 
put aside minor and sporadic anticipations of both; 
and confine attention to the periods of their effec- 
tive elaboration. For scale of time is so absolutely 
disparate. For the steam-engine, we may give about 
a hundred years; for writing, the time period is of 
the order of a thousand years. Further, when writ- 
ing was finally popularised, the world was not then 
expecting the next step in technology. The process 
of change was slow, unconscious, and unexpected. 

In the nineteenth century, the process became 
quick, conscious, and expected. The earlier half 
of the century was the period in which this new 
attitude to change was first established and enjoyed. 
It was a peculiar neriod of hope, in the sense in 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 241 


which, sixty or seventy years later, we can now 
detect a note of disillusionment,-or at least of 
anxiety. 

The greatest invention of the nineteenth century 
was the invention of the method of invention. A 
new method entered into life. In order to under- 
stand our epoch, we can neglect all the details of 
change, such as railways, telegraphs, radios, spin- 
ning machines, synthetic dyes. We must concentrate 
on the method in itself; that is the real novelty, 
which has broken up the foundations of the old 
civilisation. The prophecy of Francis Bacon has 
now been fulfilled; and man, who at times dreamt 
of himself as a little lower than the angels, has 
submitted to become the servant and the minister of 
nature. It still remains to be seen whether the same 
actor can play both parts. 

The whole change has arisen from the new scien- 
tific information. Science, conceived not so much 
in its principles as in its results, is an obvious store- 
house of ideas for utilisation. But, if we are to 
understand what happened during the century, the 
analogy of a mine is better than that of a store- 
house. Also, it is a great mistake to think that the 
bare scientific idea is the required invention, so that 
it has only to be picked up and used. An intense 
period of imaginative design lies between. One ele- 
ment in the new method is just the discovery of how 
to set about bridging the gap between the scientific 
ideas, and the ultimate product. It is a process of 
disciplined attack upon one difficulty after another. 

The possibilities of modern technology were first 
in practice realised in England, by the energy of a 


142 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


prosperous middle class. Accordingly, the industrial 
revolution started there. But the Germans explicitly 
realised the methods by which the deeper veins in 
the mine of science could be reached. They abol- 
ished haphazard methods of scholarship. Jn their 
technological schools and universities progress did 
not have to wait for the occasional genius, or the 
occasional lucky thought. Their feats of scholar- 
ship during the nineteenth century were the admira- 
tion of the world. This discipline of knowledge 
applies beyond technology to pure science, and 
beyond science to general scholarship. It represents 
the change from amateurs to professionals. 

There have always been people who devoted their 
lives to definite regions 6f thought. In particular, 
lawyers and the clergy of the Christian churches 
form obvious examples of such specialism. But the 
full self-conscious realisation of the power of pro- 
fessionalism in knowledge in all its departments, and 
of the way to produce the professionals, and of the 
importance of knowledge to the advance of technol- 
ogy, and of the methods by which abstract knowl- 
edge can be connected with technology, and of the 
boundless possibilities of technological advance,— 
the realisation of all these things was first com- 
pletely attained in the nineteenth century; and 
among the various countries, chiefly in Germany. 

In the past human life was lived in a bullock 
cart; in the future it will be lived in an aeroplane; 
and the change of speed amounts to a difference in 
quality. 

The transformation of the field of knowledge, 
which has been thus effected, has not been wholly a 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 143 


gain. At least, there are dangers implicit in it, al- 
though the increase of efficiency is undeniable. The 
discussion of various effects on social life arising 
from the new situation is reserved for my last lec- 
ture. For the present it is sufficient to note that this 
novel situation of disciplined progress is the setting 
within which the thought of the century developed. 

In the period considered four great novel ideas 
were introduced into theoretical science. Of course, 
it is possible to show good cause for increasing my 
list far beyond the number four. But I am keeping 
to ideas which, if taken in their broadest significa- 
tion, are vital to modern attempts at reconstructing 
the foundations of physical science. 

Two of these ideas are antithetical, and I will 
consider them together. We are not concerned with 
details, but with ultimate influences on thought. One 
of the ideas is that of a field of physical activity per- 
vading all space, even where there is an apparent 
vacuum. ‘This notion had occurred to many people, 
under many forms. We remember the medieval 
axiom, nature abhors a vacuum. Also, Descartes’ 
vortices at one time, in the seventeenth century, 
seemed as if established among scientific assump- 
tions. Newton believed that gravitation was caused 
by something happening in a medium. But, on the 
whole, in the eighteenth century nothing was made 
of any of these ideas. ‘The passage of light was 
explained in Newton’s fashion by the flight of minute 
corpuscles, which of course left room for a vacuum. 
Mathematical physicists were far too busy deducing 
the consequences of the theory of gravitation to 
bother much about the causes; nor did they know 


144 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


where to look, if they had troubled themselves over 
the question. ‘There were speculations, but their 
importance was not great. Accordingly, when the 
nineteenth century opened, the notion of physical 
occurrences pervading all space held no effective 
place in science. It was revived from two sources. 
The undulatory theory of light triumphed, thanks to 
Thomas Young and Fresnel. ‘This demands that 
there shall be something throughout space which can 
undulate. Accordingly, the ether was produced, as 
a sort of all-pervading subtle material. Again the 
theory of electromagnetism finally, in Clerk Max- 
well’s hands, assumed a shape in which it demanded 
that there should be electromagnetic occurrences 
throughout all space. Maxwell’s complete theory 
was not shaped until the eighteen-seventies. But it 
had been prepared for by many great men, Ampere, 
Oersted, Faraday. In accordance with the current 
materialistic outlook, these electromagnetic occur- 
rences also required a material in which to happen. 
So again the ether was requisitioned. Then Max- 
well, as the immediate first-fruits of his theory, dem- 
onstrated that the waves of light were merely waves 
of his electromagnetic occurrences. Accordingly, 
the theory of electromagnetism swallowed up the 
theory of light. It was a great simplification, and 
no one doubts its truth. But it had one unfortunate 
effect so far as materialism was concerned. For, 
whereas quite a simple sort of elastic ether sufficed 
for light when taken by itself, the electromagnetic 
ether has to be endowed with just those properties 
necessary for the production of the electromagnetic 
occurrences. In fact, it becomes a mere name for 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 145 


the material which is postulated to underlie these 
occurrences. If you do not happen to hold the meta- 
physical theory which makes you postulate such an 
ether, you can discard it. For it has no independent 
vitality. 

Thus in the seventies of the last century, some 
main physical sciences were established on a basis 
which presupposed the idea of continuity. On the 
other hand, the idea of atomicity had been intro- 
duced by John Dalton, to complete Lavoisier’s work 
on the foundation of chemistry. ‘This is the second 
great notion. Ordinary matter was conceived as 
atomic: electromagnetic effects were conceived as 
arising from a continuous field. 

There was no contradiction. In the first place, 
the notions are antithetical; but, apart from special 
embodiments, are not logically contradictory. Sec- 
ondly, they were applied to different regions of 
science, one to chemistry, and the other to electro- 
magnetism. And, as yet, there were but faint signs 
of coalescence between the two. 

The notion of matter as atomic has a long history. 
Democritus and Lucretius will at once occur to your 
minds. In speaking of these ideas as novel, I merely 
mean relatively novel, having regard to the settle- 
ment of ideas which formed the efficient basis of 
science throughout the eighteenth century. In con- 
sidering the history of thought, it is necessary to dis- 
tinguish the real stream, determining a period, from 
ineffectual thoughts casually entertained. In the 
eighteenth century every well-educated man read Lu- 
cretius, and entertained ideas about atoms. But John 
Dalton made them efficient in the stream ef science; 


146 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH 


and in this function of efficiency atomicity was a new 
idea. 

The influence of atomicity was not limited te 
chemistry. The living cell is to biology what the 
electron and the proton are to physics. Apart from 
cells and from aggregates of cells there are no bio- 
logical phenomena. The cell theory was introduced 
into biology contemporaneously with, and indepen- 
dently of, Dalton’s atomic theory. The two theories 
are independent exemplifications of the same idea 
of ‘atomism.’ ‘The biological cell theory was a 
gradual growth, and a mere list of dates and names 
illustrates the fact that the biological sciences, as 
effective schemes of thought, are barely one hundred 
years old. Bichat in 1801 elaborated a tissue 
theory: Johannes Miller in 1835 described ‘cells’ 
and demonstrated facts concerning their nature and 
relations: Schleiden in 1838 and Schwann in 1839 
finally established their fundamental character. Thus 
by 1840 both biology and chemistry were established 
on an atomic basis. The final triumph of atomism 
had to wait for the arrival of electrons at the end of 
the century. The importance of the imaginative 
background is illustrated by the fact that nearly half 
a century after Dalton had done his work, another 
chemist, Louis Pasteur, carried over these same 
ideas of atomicity still further into the region of 
biology. The cell theory and Pasteur’s work were 
in some respects more revolutionary than that of 
Dalton. For they introduced the notion of organism 
into the world of minute beings. There had been a 
tendency to treat the atom as an ultimate entity, 
capable only of external relations. ‘This attitude of 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 147 


mind was breaking down under the influence of Men- 
deleef’s periodic law. But Pasteur showed the 
decisive importance of the idea of organism at the 
stage of infinitesimal magnitude. ‘The astronomers 
had shown us how big is the universe. ‘The chemists 
and biologists teach us how small it is. There is 
in modern scientific practice a famous standard of 
length. It is rather small: to obtain it, you must 
divide a centimetre into one hundred million parts, 
and take one of them. Pasteur’s organisms are a 
good deal bigger than this length. In connection 
with atoms, we now know that there are organisms 
for which such distances are uncomfortably great. 

The remaining pair of new ideas to be ascribed to 
this epoch are both of them connected with the 
notion of transition or change. They are the doc- 
trine of the conservation of energy, and the doctrine 
of evolution. 

The doctrine of energy has to do with the notion 
of quantitative permanence underlying change. The 
doctrine of evolution has to do with the emergence 
of novel organisms as the outcome of chance. The 
theory of energy lies in the province of physics. The 
theory of evolution lies mainly in the province of 
biology, although it had previously been touched 
upon by Kant and Laplace in connection with the 
formation of suns and planets. 

The convergent effect of the new power for scien- 
tific advance, which resulted from these four ideas, 
transformed the middle period of the century into 
an orgy of scientific triumph. Clear-sighted men, of 
the sort who are so clearly wrong, now proclaimed 
that the secrets of the physical universe were finally 


148 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


disclosed. If only you ignored everything which re- 
fused to come into line, your powers of explanation 
were unlimited. On the other side, muddle-headed 
men muddled themselves into the most indefensible 
positions. Learned dogmatism, conjoined with igno- 
rance of the crucial facts, suffered a heavy defeat 
from the scientific advocates of new ways. Thus to 
the excitement derived from technological revolu- 
tion, there was now added the excitement arising 
from the vistas disclosed by scientific theory. Both 
the material and the spiritual bases of social life 
were in process of transformation. When the cen- 
tury entered upon its last quarter, its three sources 
of inspiration, the romantic, the technological, and 
the scientific had done their work. 

Then, almost suddenly, a pause occurred; and in 
its last twenty years the century closed with one of 
the dullest stages of thought since the time of the 
First Crusade. It was an echo of the eighteenth 
century, lacking Voltaire and the reckless grace of 
the French aristocrats. ‘The period was efficient, 
dull, and half-hearted. It celebrated the triumph 
of the professional man. 

But looking backwards upon this time of pause, 
we can now discern signs of change. In the first 
place, the modern conditions of systematic research 
prevent absolute stagnation. In every branch of 
science, there was effective progress, indeed rapid 
progress, although it was confined somewhat strictly 
within the accepted ideas of each branch. It was an 
age of successful scientific orthodoxy, undisturbed 
by much thought beyond the conventions. 

In the second place, we can now see that the ade- 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 149 


quacy of scientific materialism as a scheme of 
thought for the use of science was endangered. The 
conservation of energy provided a new type of quan- 
titative permanence. It is true that energy could 
be construed as something subsidiary to matter. But, 
anyhow, the notion of mass was losing its unique pre- 
eminence as being the one final permanent quantity. 
Later on, we find the relations of mass and energy 
inverted; so that mass now becomes the name for a 
quantity of energy considered in relation to some of 
its dynamical effects. ‘This train of thought leads to 
the notion of energy being fundamental, thus dis- 
placing matter from that position. But energy is 
merely the name for the quantitative aspect of a 
structure of happenings; in short, it depends on the 
notion of the functioning of an organism. The ques- 
tion is, can we define an organism without recurrence 
to the concept of matter in simple location? We 
must, later on, consider this point in more detail. 
The same relegation of matter to the background 
occurs in connection with the electromagnetic fields. 
The modern theory presupposes happenings in that 
field which are divorced from immediate dependence 
upon matter. It is usual to provide an ether as a 
substratum. But the ether does not really enter into 
the theory. Thus again the notion of material loses 
its fundamental position. Also, the atom is trans- 
forming itself into an organism; and finally the evo- 
lution theory is nothing else than the analysis of the 
conditions for the formation and survival of various 
types of organisms. In truth, one most significant 
fact of this later period is the advance in biological 
sciences. ‘hese sciences are essentially sciences con- 


150 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


cerning organisms. During the epoch in question, 
and indeed also at the present moment, the prestige 
of the more perfect scientific form belongs to the 
physical sciences. Accordingly, biology apes the 
manners of physics. It is orthodox to hold, that 
there is nothing in biology but what is physical mech- 
anism under somewhat complex circumstances. 

One difficulty in this position is the present confu- 
sion as to the foundational concepts of physical 
science. This same difficulty also attaches to the op- 
posed doctrine of vitalism. For, in this later theory, 
the fact of mechanism is accepted—I mean, mechan- 
ism based upon materialism—and an additional vital 
control is introduced to explain the actions of living 
bodies. It cannot be too clearly understood that the 
various physical laws which appear to apply to the 
behaviour of atoms are not mutually consistent as 
at present formulated. The appeal to mechanism on 
behalf of biology was in its origin an appeal to the 
well-attested self-consistent physical concepts as 
expressing the basis of all natural phenomena. But 
at present there is no such system of concepts. 

Science is taking on a new aspect which is neither 
purely physical, nor purely biological. It is becom- 
ing the study of organisms. Biology is the study of 
the larger organisms; whereas physics is the study of 
the smaller organisms. There is another difference 
between the two divisions of science. The organ- 
isms of biology include as ingredients the smaller 
organisms of physics; but there is at present no evi- 
dence that the smaller of the physical organisms can 
be analysed into component organisms. It may be 
so. But anyhow we are faced with the question as to 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 151 


whether there are not primary organisms which are 
incapable of further analysis. It seems very unlikely 
that there should be any infinite regress in nature. 
Accordingly, a theory of science which discards ma- 
terialism must answer the question as to the char- 
acter of these primary entities. There can be only 
one answer on this basis. We must start with the 
event as the ultimate unit of natural occurrence. An 
event has to do with all that there is, and in particu- 
lar with all other events. This interfusion of events 
is effected by the aspects of those eternal objects, 
such as colours, sounds, scents, geometrical charac- 
ters, which are required for nature and are not emer- 
gent from it. Such an eternal object will be an 
ingredient of one event under the guise, or aspect, 
of qualifying another event. ‘There is a reciprocity 
of aspects, and there are patterns of aspects. Each 
event corresponds to two such patterns; namely, the 
pattern of aspects of other events which it grasps 
into its own unity, and the pattern of its aspects 
which other events severally grasp into their unities. 
Accordingly, a non-materialistic philosophy of na- 
ture will identify a primary organism as being the 
emergence of some particular pattern as grasped in 
the unity of a real event. Such a pattern will also 
include the aspects of the event in question as 
grasped in other events, whereby those other events 
receive a modification, or partial determination. 
There is thus an intrinsic and an extrinsic reality of 
an event, namely, the event as in its own prehension, 
and the event as in the prehension of other events. 
The concept of an organism includes, therefore, the 
concept of the interaction of organisms. The ordi- 


152 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [CH. 


nary scientific ideas of transmission and continuity 
are, relatively speaking, details concerning the 
empirically observed characters of these patterns 
throughout space and time. The position here 
maintained is that the relationships of an event are 
internal, so far as concerns the event itself; that is 
to say, that they are constitutive of what the event 
is in itself. 

Also in the previous lecture, we arrived at the 
notion that an actual event is an achievement for its 
own sake, a grasping of diverse entities into a value 
by reason of their real togetherness in that pattern, 
to the exclusion of other entities. It is not the mere 
logical togetherness of merely diverse things. For 
in that case, to modify Bacon’s words, “‘all eternal 
objects would be alike one to another.” This reality 
means that each intrinsic essence, that is to say, what 
each eternal object is in itself, becomes relevant to 
the one limited value emergent in the guise of the 
event. But values differ in importance. Thus 
though each event is necessary for the community of 
events, the weight of its contribution is determined 
by something intrinsic in itself. We have now to 
discuss what that property is. Empirical observa- 
tion shows that it is the property which we may call 
indifferently retention, endurance or reiteration. 
This property amounts to the recovery, on behalf 
of value amid the transitoriness of reality, of the 
self-identity which is also enjoyed by the primary 
eternal objects. ‘The reiteration of a particular 
shape (or formation) of value within an event 
occurs when the event as a whole repeats some shape 
which is also exhibited by each one of a succession of 


v1] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 153 


its parts. Thus however you analyse the event ac- 
cording to the flux of its parts through time, there 
is the same thing-for-its-own-sake standing before 
you. ‘Thus the event, in its own intrinsic reality, 
mirrors in itself, as derived from its own parts, as- 
pects of the same patterned value as it realises in its 
complete self. It thus realises itself under the guise 
of an enduring individual entity, with a life history 
contained within itself. Furthermore, the extrinsic 
reality of such an event, as mirrored in other events, 
takes this same form of an enduring individuality ; 
only in this case, the individuality is implanted as a 
reiteration of aspects of itself in the alien events 
composing the environment. 

The total temporal duration of such an event 
bearing an enduring pattern, constitutes its specious 
present. Within this specious present the event 
realises itself as a totality, and also in so doing 
realises itself as grouping together a number of as- 
pects of its own temporal parts. One and the same 
pattern is realised in the total event, and is exhibited 
by each of these various parts through an aspect of 
each part grasped into the togetherness of the total 
event. Also, the earlier life-history of the same pat- 
tern is exhibited by its aspects in this total event. 
There is, thus, in this event a memory of the ante- 
cedent life-history of its own dominant pattern, as 
having formed an element of value in its own ante- 
cedent environment. This concrete prehension, from 
within, of the life-history of an enduring fact is 
analysable into two abstractions, of which one is the 
enduring entity which has emerged as a real matter 
of fact to be taken account of by other things, and 


154 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cr. 


the other is the individualised embodiment of the 
underlying energy of realisation. 

The consideration of the general flux of events 
leads to this analysis into an underlying eternal en- 
ergy in whose nature there stands an envisagement 
of the realm of all eternal objects. Such an envis- 
agement is the ground of the individualised thoughts 
which emerge as thought-aspects grasped within the 
life-history of the subtler and more complex endur- 
ing patterns. Also in the nature of the eternal activ- 
ity there must stand an envisagement of all values to 
be obtained by a real togetherness of eternal ob- 
jects, as envisaged in ideal situations. Such ideal 
situations, apart from any reality, are devoid of in- 
trinsic value, but are valuable as elements in pur- 
pose. The individualised prehension into individual 
events of aspects of these ideal situations takes the 
form of individualised thoughts, and as such has in- 
trinsic value. ‘hus value arises because there is now 
a real togetherness of the ideal aspects, as in 
thought, with the actual aspects, as in process of 
occurrence. Accordingly no value is to be ascribed 
to the underlying activity as divorced from the mat- 
ter-of-fact events of the real world. 

Finally, to sum up this train of thought, the un- 
derlying activity, as conceived apart from the fact 
of realisation, has three types of envisagement. 
These are: first, the envisagement of eternal ob- 
jects; secondly, the envisagement of possibilities of 
value in respect to the synthesis of eternal objects; 
and lastly, the envisagement of the actual matter of 
fact which must enter into the total situation which 
is achievable by the addition of the future. But in 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 155 


abstraction from actuality, the eternal activity is 
divorced from value. For the actuality is the value. 
The individual perception arising from enduring 
objects will vary in its individual depth and width 
according to the way in which the pattern dominates 
its own route. It may represent the faintest ripple 
differentiating the general substrate energy; or, in 
the other extreme, it may rise to conscious thought, 
which includes poising before self-conscious judg- 
ment the abstract possibilities of value inherent in 
various situations of ideal togetherness. ‘The inter- 
mediate cases will group round the individual percep- 
tion as envisaging (without self-consciousness) that 
one immediate possibility of attainment which repre- 
sents the closest analogy to its own immediate past, 
having regard to the actual aspects which are there 
for prehension. The laws of physics represent the 
harmonised adjustment of development which re- 
sults from this unique principle of determination. 
Thus dynamics is dominated by a principle of least 
action, whose detailed character has to be learnt 
from observation. 

The atomic material entities which are considered 
in physical science are merely these individual endur- 
ing entities, conceived in abstraction from everything 
except what concerns their mutual interplay in deter- 
mining each other’s historical routes of life-history. 
Such entities are partially formed by the inheritance 
of aspects from their own past. But they are also 
partially formed by the aspects of other events form- 
ing their environments. The laws of physics are the 
laws declaring how the entities mutually react 
among themselves. For physics these laws are arbi- 


156 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


trary, because that science has abstracted from what 
the entities are in themselves. We have seen that 
this fact of what the entities are in themselves is lia- 
ble to modification by their environments. Accord- 
ingly, the assumption that no modification of these 
laws is to be looked for in environments, which have 
any striking difference from the environments for 
which the laws have been observed to hold, is very 
unsafe. ‘The physical entities may be modified in 
very essential ways, so far as these laws are con- 
cerned. It is even possible that they may be devel- 
oped into individualities of more fundamental types, 
with wider embodiment of envisagement. Such en- 
visagement might reach to the attainment of the 
poising of alternative values with exercise of choice 
lying outside the physical laws, and expressible only 
in terms of purpose. Apart from such remote pos- 
sibilities, it remains an immediate deduction that an 
individual entity, whose own life-history is a part 
within the life-history of some larger, deeper, more 
complete pattern, is liable to have aspects of that 
larger pattern dominating its own being, and to ex- 
perience modifications of that larger pattern. re- 
flected in itself as modifications of its own being. 
This is the theory of organic mechanism. 

According to this theory the evolution of laws of 
nature is concurrent with the evolution of enduring 
pattern. For the general state of the universe, as it 
now is, partly determines the very essences of the 
entities whose modes of functioning these laws ex- 
press. The general principle is that in a new en- 
vironment there is an evolution of the old entities 
into new forms. | 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 157 


This rapid outline of a thoroughgoing organic 
theory of nature enables us to understand the chief 
requisites of the doctrine of evolution. The main 
work, proceeding during this pause at the end of the 
nineteenth century, was the absorption of this doc- 
trine as guiding the methodology of all branches of 
science. By a blindness which is almost judicial as 
being a penalty afhixed to hasty, superficial thinking, 
many religious thinkers opposed the new doctrine; 
although, in truth, a thoroughgoing evolutionary 
philosophy is inconsistent with materialism. The 
aboriginal stuff, or material, from which a material- 
istic philosophy starts is incapable of evolution. This 
material is in itself the ultimate substance. Evolu- 
tion, on the materialistic theory, is reduced to the 
role of being another word for the description of the 
changes of the external relations between portions of 
matter. There is nothing to evolve, because one set 
of external relations is as good as any other set of 
external relations. There can merely be change, 
purposeless and unprogressive. But the whole point 
of the modern doctrine is the evolution of the com- 
plex organisms from antecedent states of less com- 
plex organisms. ‘The doctrine thus cries aloud for 
a conception of organism as fundamental for nature. 
It also requires an underlying activity—a substantial 
activity—expressing itself in individual embodi- 
ments, and evolving in achievements of organism. 
The organism is a unit of emergent value, a real 
fusion of the characters of eternal objects, emerging 
for its own sake. 


Thus in the process of analysing the character of 
nature in itself, we find that the emergence of or- 


158 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


ganisms depends on a selective activity which is akin 
to purpose. The point is that the enduring organ- 
isms are now the outcome of evolution; and that, 
beyond these organisms, there is nothing else that 
endures. On the materialistic theory, there is ma- 
terial—such as matter or electricity—which endures. 
On the organic theory, the only endurances are 
structures of activity, and the structures are evolved. 

Enduring things are thus the outcome of a tem- 
poral process; whereas eternal things are the ele- 
ments required for the very being of the process. 
We can give a precise definition of endurance in this 
way: Let an event 4 be pervaded by an enduring 
structural pattern. Then 4 can be exhaustively sub- 
divided into a temporal succession of events. Let B 
be any part of 4, which is obtained by picking out 
any one of the events belonging to a series which thus 
subdivides 4. ‘Then the enduring pattern is a pat- 
tern of aspects within the complete pattern pre- 
hended into the unity of 4, and it is also a pattern 
within the complete pattern prehended into the unity 
of any temporal slice of 4, such as B. For example, 
a molecule is a pattern exhibited in an event of one 
minute, and of any second of that minute. It is 
obvious that such an enduring pattern may be of 
more, or of less, importance. It may express some 
slight fact connecting the underlying activities thus 
individualised; or it may express some very close 
connection. If the pattern which endures is merely 
derived from the direct aspects of the external en- 
vironment, mirrored in the standpoints of the vari- 
ous parts, then the endurance is an extrinsic fact of 
slight importance. But if the enduring pattern is 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 159 


wholly derived from the direct aspects of the vari- 
ous temporal sections of the event in question, then 
the endurance is an important intrinsic fact. It ex- 
presses a certain unity of character uniting the under- 
lying individualised activities. There is then an 
enduring object with a certain unity for itself and 
for the rest of nature. Let us use the term physical 
endurance to express endurance of this type. Then 
physical endurance is the process of continuously in- 
heriting a certain identity of character transmitted 
throughout a historical route of events. This char- 
acter belongs to the whole route, and to every event 
of the route. ‘This is the exact property of material. 
If it has existed for ten minutes, it has existed during 
every minute of the ten minutes, and during every 
second of every minute. Only if you take material 
to be fundamental, this property of endurance is an 
arbitrary fact at the base of the order of nature; 
but if you take organism to be fundamental, this 
property is the result of evolution. 

It looks at first sight, as if a physical object, with 
its process of inheritance from itself, were independ- 
ent of the environment. But such a conclusion is 
not justified. For let B and C be two successive 
slices in the life of such an object, such that C’ suc- 
ceeds B. Then the enduring pattern in C is inher- 
ited from B, and from other analogous antecedent 
parts of its life. It is transmitted through B to C. 
But what is transmitted to C is the complete pattern 
of aspects derived from such events as B. ‘These 
complete patterns include the influence of the envi- 
ronment on B, and on the other antecedent parts of 
the life of the object. Thus the complete aspects of 


160 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [CH, 


the antecedent life are inherited as the partial pat- 
tern which endures throughout all the various peri- 
ods of the life. Thus a favourable environment is 
essential to the maintenance of a physical object. 

Nature, as we know it, comprises enormous per- 
manences. ‘There are the permanences of ordinary 
matter. The molecules within the oldest rocks 
known to geologists may have existed unchanged 
for over a thousand million years, not only un- 
changed in themselves, but unchanged in their rela- 
tive dispositions to each other. In that length of 
time the number of pulsations of a molecule vibrat- 
ing with the frequency of yellow sodium light would 
be) about) 1613) 110 12="1630008X 1 (role akon 
recently, an atom was apparently indestructible. We 
know better now. But the indestructible atom has 
been succeeded by the apparently indestructible elec- 
tron and the indestructible proton. (awh. putm 1955 ? 

Another fact to be explained is the great similar- 
ity of these practically indestructible objects. All 
electrons are very similar to each other. We need 
not outrun the evidence, and say that they are iden- 
tical; but our powers of observation cannot detect 
any differences. Analogously, all hydrogen nuclei 
are alike. Also we note the great numbers of these 
analogous objects. There are throngs of them. It 
seems as though a certain similarity were a favour- 
able condition for éndurance. Common sense also 
suggests this conclusion. If organisms are to sur- 
vive, they must work together. 

Accordingly, the key to the mechanism of evolu- 
tion is the necessity for the evolution of a favourable 
environment, conjointly with the evolution of any 


vi] THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 161° 


specific type of enduring organisms of great perma- 
nence. Any physical object which by its influence 
deteriorates its environment, commits suicide. 

One of the simplest ways of evolving a favourable 
environment concurrently with the development of 
the individual organism, is that the influence of each 
organism on the environment should be favourable 
to the endurance of other organisms of the same 
type. Further, if the organism also favours the 
development of other organisms of the same type, 
you have then obtained a mechanism of evolution 
adapted to produce the observed state of large mul- 
titudes of analogous entities, with high powers of 
endurance. For the environment automatically de- 
velops with the species, and the species with the 
environment. 

The first question to ask is, whether there is any 
direct evidence for such a mechanism for the evolu- 
tion of enduring organisms. In surveying nature, we 
must remember that there are not only basic organ- 
isms whose ingredients are merely aspects of eternal 
objects. There are also organisms of organisms. 
Suppose for the moment and for the sake of sim- 
plicity, we assume, without any evidence, that elec- 
trons and hydrogen nuclei are such basic organisms. 
Then the atoms, and the molecules, are organisms of 
a higher type, which also represent a compact defi- 
nite organic unity. But when we come to the larger 
ageregations of matter, the organic unity fades into 
the background. It appears to be but faint and 
elementary. It is there; but the pattern is vague and 
indecisive. It is a mere aggregation of effects. 
When we come to living beings, the definiteness of 


162 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


pattern is recovered, and the organic character again 
rises into prominence. Accordingly, the character- 
istic laws of inorganic matter are mainly the statis- 
tical averages resulting from confused aggregates. 
So far are they from throwing light on the ultimate 
nature of things, that they blur and obliterate the 
individual characters of the individual organisms. 
If we wish to throw light upon the facts relating to 
organisms, we must study either the individual mole- 
cules and electrons, or the individual living beings. 
In between we find comparative confusion. Now the 
difficulty of studying the individual molecule is that 
we know so little about its life history. We cannot 
keep an individual under continuous observation. In 
general, we deal with them in large aggregates. So 
far as individuals are concerned, sometimes with 
dificulty a great experimenter throws, so to speak, 
a flash light on one of them, and just observes one 
type of instantaneous effect. Accordingly, the his- 
tory of the functioning of individual molecules, or 
electrons, is largely hidden from us. 

But in the case of living beings, we can trace the 
history of individuals. We now find exactly the 
mechanism which is here demanded. In the first 
place, there is the propagation of the species from 
members of the same species. There is also the 
careful provision of the favourable environment for 
the endurance of the family, the race, or the seed in 
the fruit. 

It is evident, however, that I have explained the 
evolutionary mechanism in terms which are far too 
simple. We find associated species of living things, 
providing for each other a favourable environment. 


vij THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 163 


Thus just as the members of the same species mutu- 
ally favour each other, so do members of associated 
species. We find the rudimentary fact of associa- 
tion in the existence of the two species, electrons 
and hydrogen nuclei. ‘The simplicity of the dual 
association, and the apparent absence of competition 
from other antagonistic species accounts for the 
massive endurance which we find among them. 

There are thus two sides to the machinery in- 
volved in the development of nature. On one side, 
there is a given environment with organisms adapt- 
ing themselves to it. The scientific materialism of 
the epoch in question emphasised this aspect. From 
this point of view, there is a given amount of mate- 
rial, and only a limited number of organisms can 
take advantage of it. The givenness of the envi- 
ronment dominates everything. Accordingly, the 
last words of science appeared to be the Struggle for 
Existence, and Natural Selection. Darwin’s own 
writings are for all time a model of refusal to go 
beyond the direct evidence, and of careful retention 
of every possible hypothesis. But those virtues were 
not so conspicuous in his followers, and still less in 
his camp-followers. The imagination of European 
sociologists and publicists was stained by exclusive 
attention to this aspect of conflicting interests. The 
idea prevailed that there was a peculiar strong- 
minded realism in discarding ethical considerations 
in the determination of the conduct of commercial 
and national interests. 

The other side of the evolutionary machinery, the 
neglected side, is expressed by the word creativeness. 
The organisms can create their own environment. 


164 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. vr] 


For this purpose, the single organism is almost help- 
less. The adequate forces require societies of co- 
operating organisms. But with such cooperation 
and in proportion to the effort put forward, the en- 
vironment has a plasticity which alters the whole 
ethical aspect of evolution. 

In the immediate past, and at present, a muddled 
state of mind is prevalent. The increased plasticity 
of the environment for mankind, resulting from the 
advances in scientific technology, is being construed 
in terms of habits of thought which find their justi- 
fication in the theory of a fixed environment. 

The riddle of the universe is not so simple. There 
is the aspect of permanence in which a given type of 
attainment is endlessly repeated for its own sake; 
and there is the aspect of transition to other things 
—it may be of higher worth, and it may be of lower 
worth. Also there are its aspects of struggle and 
of friendly help. But romantic ruthlessness is no 
nearer to real politics, than is romantic self- 
abnegation. 


CHAPTER VII 
RELATIVITY 


IN THE previous lectures of this course we have con- 
sidered the antecedent conditions which led up to 
the scientific movement, and have traced the prog- 
ress of thought from the seventeenth to the nine- 
teenth century. In the nineteenth century this his- 
tory falls into three parts, so far as it is to be 
grouped around science. ‘hese divisions are, the 
contact between the romantic movement and science, 
the development of technology and physics in the 
earlier part of the century, and lastly the theory of 
evolution combined with the general advance of the 
biological sciences. 

The dominating note of the whole period of three 
centuries is that the doctrine of materialism afforded 
an adequate basis for the concepts of science. It was 
practically unquestioned. When undulations were 
wanted, an ether was supplied, in order to perform 
the duties of an undulatory material. ‘To show the 
full assumption thus involved, I have sketched in 
outline an alternative doctrine of an organic theory 
of nature. In the last lecture it was pointed out that 
the biological developments, the doctrine of evolu- 
tion, the doctrine of energy, and the molecular the- 
ories were rapidly undermining the adequacy of the 
orthodox materialism. But until the close of the 

165 


166 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD | cH. 


century no one drew that conclusion. Materialism 
reigned supreme. 

The note of the present epoch is that so many 
complexities have developed regarding material, 
space, time, and energy, that the simple security of 
the old orthodox assumptions has vanished. It is 
obvious that they will not do as Newton left them, 
or even as Clerk Maxwell left them. ‘There must 
be a reorganization. [he new situation in the 
thought of today arises from the fact that scientific 
theory is outrunning common sense. ‘The settlement 
as inherited by the eighteenth century was a triumph 
of organised common sense. It had got rid of 
medieval phantasies, and of Cartesian vortices. As 
a result it gave full rein to its anti-rationalistic 
tendencies derived from the historical revolt of the 
Reformation period. It grounded itself upon what 
every plain man could see with his own eyes, or with 
a microscope of moderate power. It measured the 
obvious things to be measured, and it generalised 
the obvious things to be generalised. For example, 
it generalised the ordinary notions of weight and 
massiveness. ‘The eighteenth century opened with 
the quiet confidence that at last nonsense had been 
got rid of. ‘To-day we are at the opposite pole of 
thought. Heaven knows what seeming nonsense 
may not to-morrow be demonstrated truth. We have 
recaptured some of the tone of the early nineteenth 
century, only on a higher imaginative level. 

The reason why we are on a higher imaginative 
level is not because we have finer imagination, but 
because we have better instruments. In science. the 
most important thing that has happened during the 


vir] RELATIVITY 167 


last forty years is the advance in instrumental design. 
This advance is partly due to a few men of genius 
such as Michelson and the German opticians. It is 
also due to the progress of technological processes 
of manufacture, particularly in the region of metal- 
lurgy. The designer has now at his disposal a vari- 
ety of material of differing physical properties. He 
can thus depend upon obtaining the material he 
desires; and it can be ground to the shapes he desires, 
within very narrow limits of tolerance. ‘These in- 
struments have put thought on to a new level. A 
fresh instrument serves the same purpose as foreign 
travel; it shows things in unusual combinations. The 
gain is more than a mere addition; it is a transfor- 
mation. The advance in experimental-ingenuity is, 
perhaps, also due to the larger proportion of national 
ability which now flows into scientific pursuits. Any- 
how, whatever be the cause, subtle and ingenious 
experiments have abounded within the last genera- 
tion. ‘The result is, that a great deal of informa- 
‘mation has been accumulated in regions of nature 
very far removed from the ordinary experience of 
mankind. 

Two famous experiments, one devised by Galileo 
at the outset of the scientific movement, and the 
other by Michelson with the aid of his famous inter- 
ferometer, first carried out in 1881, and repeated in 
1887 and 1905, illustrate the assertions I have made. 
Galileo dropped heavy bodies from the top of the 
leaning tower of Pisa, and demonstrated that 
bodies of different weights, if released simultaneously, 
would reach the earth together. So far as experi- 
mental skill, and delicacy of apparatus were con- 


168 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


cerned, this experiment could have been made at any 
time within the preceding five thousand years. [he 
ideas involved merely concerned weight and speed 
of travel, ideas which are familiar in ordinary life. 
The whole set of ideas might have been familiar to 
the family of King Minos of Crete, as they dropped 
pebbles into the sea from high battlements rising 
from the shore. We cannot too carefully realise 
that science started with the organisation of ordi- 
nary experiences. It was in this way that it coalesced 
so readily with the anti-rationalistic bias of the 
historical revolt. It was not asking for ultimate 
meanings. It confined itself to investigating the 
connections regulating the succession of obvious 
occurrences. 

Michelson’s experiment could not have been made 
earlier than it was. It required the general advance 
in technology, and Michelson’s experimental genius. 
It concerns the determination of the earth’s motion 
through the ether, and it assumes that light consists 
of waves of vibration advancing at a fixed rate 
through the ether in any direction. Also, of course, 
the earth is moving through the ether, and Michel- 
son’s apparatus is moving with the earth. In the 
centre of the apparatus a ray of light is divided so 
that one half-ray goes in one direction along the 
apparatus through a given distance, and is reflected 
back to the centre by a mirror in the apparatus. The 
other half-ray goes the same distance across the ap- 
paratus in a direction at right angles to the former 
ray, and it also is reflected back to the centre. These 
reunited rays are then reflected onto a screen in the 
apparatus. If precautions are taken, you will see 


vit] RELATIVITY 169 


interference bands; namely bands of blackness where 
the crests of the waves of one ray have filled up the 
troughs of the other rays, owing to a minute differ- 
ence in the lengths of paths of the two half-rays, up 
to certain parts of the screens. These differences in 
length will be affected by the motion of the earth. 
For it is the lengths of the paths in the ether which 
count. hus, since the apparatus is moving with the 
earth, the path of one half-ray will be disturbed by 
the motion in a different manner from the path of 
the other half-ray. Think of yourself as moving 
in a railway carriage, first along the train and then 
across the train; and mark out your paths on the 
railway track which in this analogy corresponds to 
the ether. Now the motion of the earth is very slow 
compared to that of light. ‘Thus in the analogy you 
must think of the train almost at a standstill, and of 
yourself as moving very quickly. 

In the experiment this effect of the earth’s motion 
would affect the positions on the screen of the inter- 
ference bands. Also if you turn the apparatus 
round, through a right-angle, the effect of the earth’s 
motion on the two half-rays will be interchanged, 
and the positions of the interference bands would be 
shifted. We can calculate the small shift which 
should result owing to the earth’s motion round the 
sun. Also to this effect, we have to add that due to 
the sun’s motion through the ether. The delicacy of 
the instrument can be tested, and it can be proved 
that these effects of shifting are large enough to be 
observed by it. Now the point is, that nothing was 
observed. There was no shifting as you turned the 
instrument round. 


170 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


The conclusion is either that the earth is always 
stationary in the ether, or that there is something 
wrong with the fundamental principles on which the 
interpretation of the experiment relies. It is obvious 
that, in this experiment, we are very far away from 
the thoughts and the games of the children of King 
Minos. The ideas of an ether, of waves in it, of 
interference, of the motion of the earth through the 
ether, and of Michelson’s interferometer, are remote 
from ordinary experience. But remote as they are, 
they are simple and obvious compared to the ac- 
cepted explanation of the nugatory result of the 
experiment. 

The ground of the explanation is that the ideas of 
space and of time employed in science are too simple- 
minded, and must be modified. ‘This conclusion is a 
direct challenge to common sense, because the earlier 
science had only refined upon the ordinary notions of 
ordinary people. Such a radical reorganisation of 
ideas would not have been adopted, unless it had also 
been supported by many other observations which 
we need not enter upon. Some form of the relativity 
theory seems to be the simplest way of explaining a 
large number of facts which otherwise would each 
require some ad hoc explanation. The theory, there- 
fore, does not merely depend upon the experiments 
which led to its origination. 

The central point of the explanation is that every 
instrument, such as Michelson’s apparatus as used 
in the experiment, necessarily records the velocity of 
light as having one and the same definite speed rela- 
tively to it. I mean that an interferometer in a 
comet and an interferometer on the earth would 


vit] RELATIVITY 171 


necessarily bring out the velocity of light, relatively 
to themselves, as at the same value. This is an obvi- 
ous paradox, since the light moves with a definite 
velocity through the ether. Accordingly two bodies, 
the earth and the comet, moving with unequal veloc- 
ities through the ether, might be expected to have 
different velocities relatively to rays of light. For 
example, consider two cars on a road, moving at ten 
and twenty miles an hour respectively, and being 
passed by another car at fifty miles an hour. The 
rapid car will pass one of the two cars at the relative 
velocity of forty miles per hour, and the other at 
the rate of thirty miles per hour. The allegation as 
to light is that, if we substituted a ray of light for 
the rapid car, the velocity of the light along the 
roadway would be exactly the same as its velocity 
relatively to either of the two cars which it over- 
takes. The velocity of light is immensely large, 
being about three hundred thousand kilometres per 
second. We must have notions as to space and time 
such that just this velocity has this peculiar charac- 
ter. It follows that all our notions of relative veloc- 
ity must be recast. But these notions are the imme- 
diate outcome of our habitual notions as to space 
and time. So we come back to the position, that 
there has been something overlooked in the current 
expositions of what we mean by space and of what 
we mean by time. 

Now our habitual fundamental assumption is that 
there is a unique meaning to be given to space and 
a unique meaning to be given to time, so that what- 
ever meaning is given to spatial relations in respect 
to the instrument on the earth, the same meaning 


172 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cx. 


must be given to them in respect to the instrument on 
the comet, and the same meaning for an instrument 
at rest in the ether. In the theory of relativity, this 
is denied. As far as concerns space, there is no dif- 
ficulty in agreeing, if you think of the obvious facts 
of relative motion. But even here the change in 
meaning has to go further than would be sanctioned 
by common sense. Also the same demand is made 
for time; so that the relative dating of events and 
the lapses of time between them are to be reckoned 
as different for the instrument on the earth, for the 
instrument in the comet, and for the instrument at 
rest in the ether. This is a greater strain on our 
credulity. We need not probe the question further 
than the conclusion that for the earth and for the 
comet spatiality and temporality are each to have 
different meanings amid different conditions, such as 
those presented by the earth and the comet. Ac- 
cordingly velocity has different meanings for the two 
bodies. ‘Thus the modern scientific assumption is 
that if anything has the speed of light by reference 
to any one meaning of space and time, then it has 
the same speed according to any other meaning of 
space and time. 

This is a heavy blow at the classical scientific 
materialism, which presupposes a definite present 
instant at which all matter is simultaneously real. 
In the modern theory there is no such unique present 
instant. You can find a meaning for the notion of 
the simultaneous instant throughout all nature, but 
it will be a different meaning for different notions of 
temporality. 

There has been a tendency to give an extreme sub- 


vit] RELATIVITY 173 


jectivist interpretation to this new doctrine. I mean 
that the relativity of space and time has been con- 
strued as though it were dependent on the choice of 
the observer. It is perfectly legitimate to bring in 
the observer, if he facilitates explanations. But it is 
the observer’s body that we want, and not his mind. 
Even this body is only useful as an example of a 
very familiar form of apparatus. On the whole, it 
is better to concentrate attention on Michelson’s 
interferometer, and to leave Michelson’s body and 
Michelson’s mind out of the picture. The question 
is, why did the interferometer have black bands on 
its screen, and why did not these bands slightly shift 
as the instrument turned. The new relativity asso- 
ciates space and time with an intimacy not hitherto 
contemplated; and presupposes that their separation 
in concrete fact can be achieved by alternative modes 
of abstraction, yielding alternative meanings. But 
each mode of abstraction is directing attention to 
_ something which is in nature; and thereby is isolat- 
ing it for the purpose of contemplation. The fact 
relevant to experiment, is the relevance of the inter- 
ferometer to just one among the many alternative 
systems of these spatio-temporal relations which 
hold between natural entities. 

What we must now ask of philosophy is to give 
us an interpretation of the status in nature of space 
and time, so that the possibility of alternative mean- 
ings is preserved. ‘These lectures are not suited for 
the elaboration of details; but there is no difficulty 
in pointing out where to look for the origin of 
the discrimination between space and time. I am 
presupposing the organic theory of nature, which 


174 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


I have outlined as a basis for a thoroughgoing 
objectivism. 

An event is the grasping into unity of a pattern of 
aspects. ‘The effectiveness of an event beyond itself 
arises from the aspects of itself which go to form 
the prehended unities of other events. Except for 
the systematic aspects of geometrical shape, this 
effectiveness is trivial, if the mirrored pattern at- 
taches merely to the event as one whole. If the 
pattern endures throughout the successive parts of 
the event, and also exhibits itself in the whole, so 
that the event is the life history of the pattern, then 
in virtue of that enduring pattern the event gains in 
external effectiveness. For its own effectiveness is 
reénforced by the analogous aspects of all its suc- 
cessive parts. [he event constitutes a patterned 
value with a permanence inherent throughout its 
own parts; and by reason of this inherent endurance 
the event is important for the modification of its 
environment. 

It is in this endurance of pattern that time differ- 
entiates itself from space. The pattern is spatially 
now; and this temporal determination constitutes 
its relation to each partial event. For it is repro- 
duced in this temporal succession of these spatial 
parts of its own life. I mean that this particular 
rule of temporal order allows the pattern to be 
reproduced in each temporal slice of its history. So 
to speak, each enduring object discovers in nature 
and requires from nature a principle discriminating 
space from time. Apart from the fact of an endur- 
ing pattern this principle might be there, but it 


vit] RELATIVITY 175 


would be latent and trivial. Thus the importance 
of space as against time, and of time as against 
space, has developed with the development of endur- 
ing organisms. Enduring objects are significant of a 
differentiation of space from time in respect to the 
patterns ingredient within events; and conversely 
the differentiation of space from time in the patterns 
ingredient within events expresses the patience of 
the community of events for enduring objects. There 
might be the community without objects, but there 
could not be the enduring objects without the com- 
munity with its peculiar patience for them. 

It is very necessary that this point should not be 
misunderstood. Endurance means that a pattern 
which is exhibited in the prehension of one event is 
also exhibited in the prehension of those of its parts 
which are discriminated by a certain rule. It is not 
true that any part of the whole event will yield the 
same pattern as does the whole. For example, con- 
sider the total bodily pattern exhibited in the life of 
a human body during one minute. One of the 
thumbs during the same minute is part of the whole 
bodily event. But the pattern of this part is the 
pattern of the thumb, and is not the pattern of the 
whole body. ‘Thus endurance requires a definite rule 
for obtaining the parts. In the above example, we 
know at once what the rule is: You must take the 
life of the whole body during any portion of that 
same minute; for example, during a second or a 
tenth of a second. In other words, the meaning of 
endurance presupposes a meaning for the lapse cf 
time within the spatio-temporal continuum. 


176 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD {CH. 


The question now arises whether all enduring 
objects discover the same principle of differentiation 
of space from time; or even whether at different 
stages of its own life-history one object may not 
vary in its spatio-temporal discrimination. Up till 
a few years ago, everyone unhesitatingly assumed 
that there was only one such principle to be discov- 
ered. Accordingly, in dealing with one object, time 
would have exactly the same meaning in reference 
to endurance as in dealing with the endurance of 
another object. It would also follow then that 
spatial relations would have one unique meaning. 
But now it seems that the observed effectiveness of 
objects can only be explained by assuming that ob- 
jects in a state of motion relatively to each other 
are utilising, for their endurance, meanings of space 
and of time which are not identical from one object 
to another. Every enduring object is to be con- 
ceived as at rest in its own proper space, and in 
motion throughout any space defined in a way which 
is not that inherent in its peculiar endurance. If 
two objects are mutually at rest, they are utilising 
the same meanings of space and of time for the pur- 
poses of expressing their endurance; if in relative 
motion, the spaces and times differ. It follows that, 
if we can conceive a body at one stage of its life 
history as in motion relatively to itself at another 
stage, then the body at these two stages is utilising 
diverse meanings of space, and correlatively diverse 
meanings of time. 

In an organic philosophy of nature there is noth- 
ing to decide between the old hypothesis of the 
uniqueness of the time discrimination and the new 


vit] RELATIVITY 177 


hypothesis of its multiplicity. It is purely a matter 
for evidence drawn from observations.* 

In an earlier lecture, I said that an event had 
contemporaries. It is an interesting question 
whether, on the new hypothesis, such a statement 
can be made without the qualification of a reference 
to a definite space-time system. It is possible to do 
so, in the sense that in some time-system or other 
the two events are simultaneous. In other time-sys- 
tems the two contemporary events will not be 
simultaneous, though they may overlap. Analog- 
ously one event will precede another without qualifi- 
cation, if in every time-system this precedence occurs. 
It is evident that if we start from a given event 4, 
other events in general are divided into two sets, 
namely, those which without qualification are con- 
temporaneous with 4 and those which either pre- 
cede or succeed 4. But there will be a set left over, 
namely, those events which bound the two sets. 
There we have a critical case. You will remember 
that we have a critical velocity to account for, 
namely the theoretical velocity of light in vacuo.’ 
Also you will remember that the utilisation of differ- 
ent spatio-temporal systems means the relative 
motion of objects. When we analyse this critical 
relation of a special set of events to any given event 
A, we find the explanation of the critical velocity 
which we require. I am suppressing all details. It 
is evident that exactness of statement must be intro- 
duced by the introduction of points, and lines, and 

* Cf. my Principles of Natural Knowledge, Sec. 52:3. 


* This is not the velocity of light in a gravitational field or in a 
medium of molecules and electrons. 


178 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cuH. 


instants. Also that the origin of geometry requires 
discussion; for example, the measurement of lengths, 
the straightness of lines, and the flatness of planes, 
and perpendicularity. I have endeavoured to carry 
out these investigations in some earlier books, under 
the heading of the theory of extensive abstraction; 
but they are too technical for the present occasion. 

If there be no one definite meaning to the geomet- 
rical relations of distance, it is evident that the 
law of gravitation needs restatement. For the 
formula expressing that law is that two particles 
attract each other in proportion to the product of 
their masses and the inverse square of their dis- 
tances. ‘This enunciation tacitly assumes that there 
is one definite meaning to be ascribed to the instant 
at which the attraction is considered, and also one 
definite meaning to be ascribed to distance. But 
distance is a purely spatial notion, so that in the 
new doctrine, there are an indefinite number of such 
meanings according to the space-time system which 
you adopt. If the two particles are relatively at 
rest, then we might be content with the space-time 
systems which they are both utilising. Unfortu- 
nately this suggestion gives no hint as to procedure 
when they are not mutually at rest. It is, therefore, 
necessary to reformulate the law in a way which 
does not presuppose any particular space-time sys- 
tem. Einstein has done this. Naturally the result 
is more complicated. He introduced into mathemat- 
ical physics certain methods of pure mathematics 
which render the formulae independent of the par- 
ticular systems of measurement adopted. The new 
formula introduces various small effects which are 


vir] RELATIVITY 179 


absent in Newton’s law. But for the major effects 
Newton's law and Einstein’s law agree. Now these 
extra effects of Einstein’s law serve to explain irreg- 
ularities of the planet Mercury’s orbit which by 
Newton’s law were inexplicable. ‘This is a strong 
confirmation of the new theory. Curiously enough, 
there is more than one alternative formula, based on 
the new theory of multiple space-time systems, hav- 
ing the property of embodying Newton’s law and 
in addition of explaining the peculiarities of Mer- 
cury’s motion. The only method of selection 
between them is to wait for experimental evidence 
respecting those effects on which the formulae differ. 
Nature is probably quite indifferent to the aesthetic 
preferences of mathematicians. 

It only remains to add that Einstein would prob- 
bably reject the theory of multiple space-time sys- 
tems which I have been expounding to you. He 
would interpret his formula in terms of contortions 
in space-time which alter the invariance theory for 
measure properties, and of the proper times of each 
historical route. His mode of statement has the 
greater mathematical simplicity, and only allows of 
one law of gravitation, excluding the alternatives. 
But, for myself, I cannot reconcile it with the given 
facts of our experience as to simultaneity, and spatial 
arrangement. There are also other difficulties of a 
more abstract character. 

The theory of the relationship between events at 
which we have now arrived is based first upon the 
doctrine that the relatednesses of an event are all 
internal relations, so far as concerns that event, 
though not necessarily so far as concerns the other 


130 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


relata. For example, the eternal objects, thus 
involved, are externally related to events. This 
internal relatedness is the reason why an event can 
be found only just where it is and how it is,—that 
is to say, in just one definite set of relationships. 
For each relationship enters into the essence of the 
event; so that, apart from that relationship, the 
event would not be itself. This is what is meant by 
the very notion of internal relations. It has been 
usual, indeed, universal, to hold that spatio-tem- 
poral relationships are external. ‘This doctrine is 
what is here denied. 

The conception of internal relatedness involves 
the analysis of the event into two factors, one the 
underlying substantial activity of individualisation, 
and the other the complex of aspects—that is to 
say, the complex of relatednesses as entering into 
the essence of the given event—which are unified 
by this individualised activity. In other words, the 
concept of internal relations requires the concept of 
substance as the activity synthesising the relation- 
ships into its emergent character. The event is what 
it is, by reason of the unification in itself of a mul- 
tiplicity of relationships. The general scheme of 
these mutual relationships is an abstraction which 
presupposes each event as an independent entity, 
which it is not, and asks what remnant of these 
formative relationships is then left in the guise of 
external relationships. The scheme of relationships 
as thus impartially expressed becomes the scheme 
of a complex of events variously related as wholes 
to parts and as joint parts within some one whole. 
Even here, the internal relationship forces itself on 


vir] RELATIVITY 181 


our attention; for the part evidently is constitutive 
of the whole. Also an isolated event which has 
lost its status in any complex of events is equally 
excluded by the very nature of an event. So the 
whole is evidently constitutive of the part. Thus 
the internal character of the relationship really 
shows through this impartial scheme of abstract 
external relations. 

But this exhibition of the actual universe as exten- 
sive and divisible has left out the distinction between 
space and time. It has in fact left out the process 
of realisation, which is the adjustment of the syn- 
thetic activities by virtue of which the various events 
become their realised selves. This adjustment is 
thus the adjustment of the underlying active sub- 
stances whereby these substances exhibit themselves 
as the individualisations or modes of Spinoza’s one 
substance. This adjustment is what introduces tem- 
poral process. 

Thus, in some sense, time, in its character of the 
adjustment of the process of synthetic realisation, 
extends beyond the spatio-temporal continuum of 
nature.. ‘There is no necessity that temporal proc- 
ess, in this sense, should be constituted by one single 
series of linear succession. Accordingly, in order 
to satisfy the present demands of scientific hypothe- 
sis, we introduce the metaphysical hypothesis that 
this is not the case. We do assume (basing our- 
selves upon direct observation), however, that tem- 
poral process of realisation can be analysed into a 
group of linear serial processes. Each of these 
linear series is a space-time system. In support of 

* Cf. my Concept of Nature, Ch. III. 


182 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


this assumption of definite serial processes, we 
appeal: (1) to the immediate presentation through 
the senses of an extended universe beyond ourselves 
and simultaneous with ourselves, (2) to the intel- 
lectual apprehension of a meaning to the question 
which asks what is now immediately happening in 
regions beyond the cognisance of our senses, (3) to 
the analysis of what is involved in the endurance 
of emergent objects. This endurance of objects 
involves the display of a pattern as now realised. 
This display is the display of a pattern as inherent 
in an event, but also as exhibiting a temporal slice 
of nature as lending aspects to eternal objects (or, 
equally, of eternal objects as lending aspects to 
events). The pattern is spatialised in a whole dura- 
tion for the benefit of the event into whose essence 
the pattern enters. ‘The event is part of the dura- 
tion, i.e., is part of what is exhibited in the aspects 
inherent in itself; and conversely the duration is the 
whole of nature simultaneous with the event, in that 
sense of simultaneity. Thus an event in realising 
itself displays a pattern, and this pattern requires 
a definite duration determined by a definite meaning 
of simultaneity. Each such meaning of simultaneity 
relates the pattern as thus displayed to one definite 
space-time system. ‘The actuality of the space-time 
systems is constituted by the realisation of pattern; 
but it is inherent in the general scheme of events 
as constituting its patience for the temporal process 
of realisation. 

Notice that the pattern requires a duration involv- 
ing a definite lapse of time, and not merely an instan- 


vit] RELATIVITY 183 


taneous moment. Such a moment is more abstract, 
in that it merely denotes a certain relation of con- 
tiguity between the concrete events. Thus a dura- 
tion is spatialised; and by ‘spatialised’ is meant that 
the duration is the field for the realised pattern 
constituting the character of the event. A duration, 
as the field of the pattern realised in the actualisa- 
tion of one of its contained events, is an epoch, 
i.é., an arrest. Endurance is the repetition of the 
pattern in successive events. Thus endurance 
requires a succession of durations, each exhibiting 
the pattern. In this account ‘time’ has been separated 
from ‘extension’ and from the ‘divisibility’ which 
arises from the character of spatio-temporal of 
extension. Accordingly we must not proceed to 
conceive time as another form of extensiveness. 
Time is sheer succession of epochal durations. But 
the entities which succeed each other in this account 
are durations. The duration is that which is 
required for the realisation of a pattern in the given 
event. Thus the divisibility and extensiveness is 
within the given duration. The epochal duration is 
not realised via its successive divisible parts, but is 
given with its parts. In this way, the objection 
which Zeno might make to the joint validity of two 
passages from Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason is met 
by abandoning the earlier of the two passages. I 
refer to passages from the section ‘Of the Axioms 
of Intuition’; the earlier from the subsection on 
Extensive Quantity, and the latter from the sub- 
section on Intensive Quantity where considerations 
respecting quantity in general, extensive and inten- 


184 SCIENCE AND ‘THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


sive, are summed up. The earlier passage runs 
thus: * 

‘I call an extensive quantity that in which the rep- 
resentation of the whole is rendered possible by the 
representation of its parts, and therefore necessar- 
ily preceded by it.” I cannot represent to myself any 
line, however small it may be, without drawing it 
in thought, that is, without producing all its parts 
one after the other, starting from a given point, and 
thus, first of all, drawing its intuition. The same 
applies to every, even the smallest, portion of time. 
I can only think in it the successive progress from 
one moment to another, thus producing in the end, 
by all the portions of time, and their addition, a 
definite quantity of time.’ 

The second passage runs thus: 

‘This peculiar property of quantities that no part 
of them is the smallest possible part (no part indivis- 
ible) is called continuity. ‘Time and space are quanta 
continua, because there is no part of them that is 
not enclosed between limits (points and moments), 
no part that is not itself again a space or a time. 
Space consists of spaces only, time of times. Points 
and moments are only limits, mere places of limita. 
tion, and as places presupposing always those intui- 
tions which they are meant to limit or to determine. 
Mere places or parts that might be given before 
space or time, could never be compounded into space 
or time.’ 

I am in complete agreement with the second 


* Max Miiller’s translation. 
* Italics mine, and also in the second passage. 


vit] RELATIVITY 185 


extract if ‘time and space’ is the extensive con- 
tinuum; but it is inconsistent with its predecessor. 
For Zeno would object that a vicious infinite regress 
is involved. Every part of time involves some 
smaller part of itself, and so on. Also this series 
regresses backwards ultimately to nothing; since the 
initial moment is without duration and merely marks 
the relation of contiguity to an earlier time. Thus 
time is impossible, if the two extracts are both 
adhered to. I accept the later, and reject the earlier, 
passage. Realisation is the becoming of time in 
the field of extension. Extension is the complex of 
events, qua their potentialities. In realisation the 
potentiality becomes actuality. But the potential 
pattern requires a duration; and the duration must 
be exhibited as an epochal whole, by the realisation 
of the pattern. Thus time is the succession of ele- 
ments in themselves divisible and contiguous. A 
duration, in becoming temporal, thereby incurs reali- 
sation in respect to some enduring object. Tempo- 
ralisation is realisation. “Temporalisation is not 
another continuous process. It is an atomic succes- 
sion. [hus time is atomic (7.e., epochal), though 
what is temporalised is divisible. ‘This doctrine fol- 
lows from the doctrine of events, and of the nature 
of enduring objects. In the next chapter we must 
consider its relevance to the quantum theory of 
recent science. 

It is to be noted that this doctrine of the epochal 
character of time does not depend on the modern 
doctrine of relativity, and holds equally—and 
indeed, more simply—if this doctrine be abandoned. 


186 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD _[cu. vu] 


It does depend on the analysis of the intrinsic char- 
acter of an event, considered as the most concrete 
finite entity. 

In reviewing this argument, note first that the 
second quotation from Kant, on which it is based, 
does not depend on any peculiar Kantian doctrine. 
The latter of the two is in agreement with Plato 
as against Aristotle.” In the second place, the argu- 
ment assumes that Zeno understated his argument. 
He should have urged it against the current notion 
of time in itself, and not against motion, which 
involves relations between time and space. For, 
what becomes has duration. But no duration can 
become until a smaller duration (part of the former) 
has antecedently come into being [Kant’s earlier 
statement]. The same argument applies to this 
smaller duration, and so on. Also the infinite 
regress of these durations converges to nothing— 
and even to the Aristotelian view there is no first 
moment. Accordingly time would be an irrational 
notion. Thirdly, in the epochal theory Zeno’s diffi- 
culty is met by conceiving temporalisation as the 
realisation of a complete organism. This organism 
is an event holding in its essence its spatio-temporal 
relationships (both within itself, and beyond itself) 
throughout the spatio-temporal continuum. 


1 Cf. ‘Euclid in Greek,’ by Sir T. L. Heath, Camb. Univ. Press, 
in a note on Points, 


CHAPTER VIII 
THE QUANTUM THEORY 


THE theory of relativity has justly excited a great 
amount of public attention. But, for all its impor- 
tance, it has not been the topic which has chiefly 
absorbed the recent interest of physicists. Without 
question that position is held by the quantum theory. 
The point of interest in this theory is that, according 
to it, some effects which appear essentially capable 
of gradual increase or gradual diminution are in 
reality to be increased or decreased only by certain 
definite jumps. It is as though you could walk at 
three miles per hour or at four miles per hour, but 
not at three and a half miles per hour. 

The effects in question are concerned with the 
radiation of light from a melecule which has been 
excited by some collision. Light consists of waves 
of vibration in the electromagnetic field. After a 
complete wave has passed a given point everything 
at that point is restored to its original state and is 
ready for the next wave which follows on. Picture 
to yourselves the waves on the ocean, and reckon 
from crest to crest of successive waves. The num- 
ber of waves which pass a given point in one second 
is called the frequency of that system of waves. A 
system of light-waves of definite frequency corre- 
sponds to a definite colour in the spectrum. Now 

187 


188 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


a molecule, when excited, vibrates with a certain 
number of definite frequencies. In other words, 
there are a definite set of modes of vibration of the 
molecule, and each mode of vibration has one defi- 
nite frequency. Each mode of vibration can stir 
up in the electromagnetic field waves of its own 
frequency. ‘These waves carry away the energy 
of the vibration; so that finally (when such waves 
are in being) the molecule loses the energy of its 
excitement and the waves cease. Thus a molecule 
can radiate light of certain definite colours, that is 
to say, of certain definite frequencies. 

You would think that each mode of vibration 
could be excited to any intensity, so that the energy 
carried away by light of that frequency could be 
of any amount. But this is not the case. There 
appear to be certain minimum amounts of energy 
which cannot be subdivided. The case is analogous 
to that of a citizen of the United States who, in 
paying his debts in the currency of his country, can- 
not subdivide a cent so as to correspond to some 
minute subdivision of the goods obtained. The cent 
corresponds to the minimum quantity of the light 
energy, and the goods obtained correspond to the 
energy of the exciting cause. This exciting cause 
is either strong enough to procure the emission of 
one cent of energy, or fails to procure the emission 
of any energy whatsoever. In any case the molecule 
will only emit an integral number of cents of energy. 
There is a further peculiarity which we can illus- 
trate by bringing an Englishman onto the scene. 
He pays his debts in English currency, and his small- 
est unit is a farthing which differs in value from the 


Vi1I] THE QUANTUM THEORY 189 


cent. The farthing is in fact about half a cent, to a 
very rough approximation. In the molecule, differ- 
ent modes of vibration have different frequencies. 
Compare each mode to a nation. One mode corre- 
sponds to the United States, and another mode cor- 
responds to England. One mode can only radiate 
its energy in an integral number of cents, so that a 
cent of energy is the least it can pay out; whereas 
the other mode can only radiate its energy in an 
integral number of farthings, so that a farthing of 
energy is the least that it can pay out. Also a rule 
can be found to tell us the relative value of the 
cent of energy of one mode to the farthing of energy 
of another mode. ‘The rule is childishly simple: 
Each smallest coin of energy has a value in strict 
proportion to the frequency belonging to that mode. 
By this rule, and comparing farthings with cents, 
the frequency of an American would be about twice 
that of an Englishman. In other words, the Amer- 
ican would do about twice as many things in a sec: 
ond as an Englishman. I must leave you to judge 
whether this corresponds to the reputed characters 
of the two nations. Also I suggest that there are 
merits attaching to both ends of the solar spectrum. 
Sometimes you want red light and sometimes violet 
light. 

There has been, I hope, no great difficulty in 
comprehending what the quantum theory asserts 
about molecules. ‘The perplexity arises from the 
effort to fit the theory into the current scientific pic- 
ture of what is going on in the molecule or atom. 

It has been the basis of the materialistic theory, 
that the happenings of nature are to be explained 


Ve eT) SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


in terms of the locomotion of material. In accord- 
ance with this principle, the waves of light were 
explained in terms of the locomotion of a material 
ether, and the internal happenings of a molecule are 
now explained in terms of the locomotion of sepa- 
rate material parts. In respect to waves of light, 
the material ether has retreated to an indeterminate 
position in the background, and is rarely talked 
about. But the principle is unquestioned as regards 
its application to the atom. For example a neutral 
hydrogen atom is assumed to consist of at least two 
lumps of material; one lump is the nucleus consist- 
ing of a material called positive electricity, and the 
other is a single electron which is negative electricity. 
The nucleus shows signs of being complex, and of 
being subdivisible into smaller lumps, some of posi- 
tive electricity and others electronic. ‘The assump- 
tion is, that whatever vibration takes place in the 
atom is to be attributed to the vibratory locomotion 
of some bit of material, detachable from the remain- 
der. The difficulty with the quantum theory is that, 
on this hypothesis, we have to picture the atom as 
providing a limited number of definite grooves, 
which are the sole tracks along which vibration can 
take place, whereas the classical scientific picture 
provides none of these grooves. The quantum the- 
ory wants trolley-cars with a limited number of 
routes, and the scientific picture provides horses 
galloping over prairies. The result is that the physi- 
cal doctrine of the atom has got into a state which 
is strongly suggestive of the epicycles of astronomy 
before Copernicus. 

On the organic theory of nature there are two 


vir] THE QUANTUM THEORY 191 


sorts of vibrations which radically differ from each 
other. ‘There is vibratory locomotion, and there 
is vibratory organic deformation; and the conditions 
for the two types of changes are of a different char- 
acter. In other words, there is vibratory locomo- 
tion of a given pattern as one whole, and there is 
vibratory change of pattern. 

A complete organism in the organic theory is 
what corresponds to a bit of material on the 
materialistic theory. ‘There will be a primary genus, 
comprising a number of species of organisms, such 
that each primary organism, belonging to a species 
of the primary genus, is not decomposable into 
subordinate organisms. I will call any organism 
of the primary genus a primate. There may be 
different species of primates. 

It must be kept in mind that we are dealing with 
the abstractions of physics. Accordingly, we are not 
thinking of what a primate is in itself, as a pattern 
arising from the prehension of the concrete aspects; 
nor are we thinking of what a primate is for its 
environment, in respect to its concrete aspects pre- 
hended therein. We are thinking of these various 
aspects merely in so far as their effects on patterns 
and on locomotion are expressible in spatio-tem- 
poral terms. Accordingly, in the language of 
physics, the aspects of a primate are merely its con- 
tributions to the electro-magnetic field. ‘This is in 
fact exactly what we know of electrons and protons. 
An electron for us is merely the pattern of its aspects 
in its environment, so far as those aspects are rele- 
vant to the electromagnetic field. 

Now in discussing the theory of relativity, we 


192 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


saw that the relative motion of two primates means 
simply that their organic patterns are utilising 
diverse space-time systems. If two primates do not 
continue either mutually at rest, or mutually in uni- 
form relative motion, at least one of them is chang- 
ing its intrinsic space-time system. The laws of 
motion express the conditions under which these 
changes of space-time systems are effected. The 
conditions for vibratory locomotion are founded 
upon these general laws of motion. 

But it is possible that certain species of primates 
are apt to go to pieces under conditions which lead 
them to effect changes of space-time systems. Such 
species would only experience a long range of endur- 
ance, if they had succeeded in forming a favourable 
association among primates of different species, such 
that in this association the tendency to collapse is 
neutralised by the environment of the association. 
We can imagine the atomic nucleus as composed of 
a large number of primates of differing species, and 
perhaps with many primates of the same species, the 
whole association being such as to favour stability. 
An example of such an association is afforded by the 
association of a positive nucleus with negative elec- 
trons to obtain a neutral atom. ‘The neutral atom 
is thereby shielded from any electric field which 
would otherwise produce changes in the space-time 
system of the atom. 

The requirements of physics now suggest an idea 
which is very consonant with the organic philosoph- 
ical theory. I put it in the form of a question: Has 
our organic theory of endurance been tainted by the 
materialistic theory in so far as it assumes without 


vit] THE QUANTUM THEORY 193 


question that endurance must mean undifferentiated 
sameness throughout the life-history concerned? 
Perhaps you noticed that (in a previous chapter) I 
used the word ‘reiteration’ as a synonym of ‘endur- 
ance.’ It obviously is not quite synonymous in its 
meaning; and now I want to suggest that reiteration 
where it differs from endurance is more nearly what 
the organic theory requires. The difference is very 
analogous to that between the Galileans and the 
Aristotelians: Aristotle said ‘rest’ where Galileo 
added ‘or uniform motion in a straight line.’ Thus 
in the organic theory, a pattern need not endure in 
undifferentiated sameness through time. ‘The pat- 
tern may be essentially one of aesthetic contrasts 
requiring a lapse of time for its unfolding. A tune 
is an example of such a pattern. ‘Thus the endur- 
ance of the pattern now means the reiteration of its 
succession of contrasts. This is obviously the most 
general notion of endurance on the organic theory, 
and ‘reiteration’ is perhaps the word which expresses 
it with most directness. But when we translate this 
notion into the abstractions of physics, it at once 
becomes the technical notion of ‘vibration.’ ‘This 
vibration is not the vibratory locomotion: it is the 
vibration of organic deformation. ‘There are cer- 
tain indications in modern physics that for the rdle 
of corpuscular organisms at the base of the physi- 
cal field, we require vibratory entities. Such cor- 
puscles would be the corpuscles detected as expelled 
from the nuclei of atoms, which then dissolve into 
waves of light. We may conjecture that such a 
corpuscular body has no great stability of endurance, 
when in isolation. Accordingly, an unfavourable en- 


194 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


vironment leading to rapid changes in its proper 
space-time system, that is to say, an environment 
jolting it into violent accelerations, causes the cor- 
puscles to go to pieces and dissolve into light-waves 
of the same period of vibration. 

A proton, and perhaps an electron, would be an 
association of such primates, superposed on each 
other, with their frequencies and spatial dimensions 
so arranged as to promote the stability of the com- 
plex organism, when jolted into acceleration of 
locomotion. ‘The conditions for stability would give 
the associations of periods possible for protons. 
The expulsion of a primate would come from a jolt 
which leads the proton either to settle down into 
an alternative association, or to generate a new 
primate by the aid of the energy received. 

A primate must be associated with a definite fre- 
quency of vibratory organic deformation so that 
when it goes to pieces it dissolves into light waves 
of the same frequency, which then carry off all its 
average energy. It is quite easy (as a particular 
hypothesis) to imagine stationary vibrations of the 
electromagnetic field of definite frequency, and 
directed radially to and from a centre, which, in 
accordance with the accepted electromagnetic laws, 
would consist of a vibratory spherical nucleus satis- 
fying one set of conditions and a vibratory external 
field satisfying another set of conditions. This ‘is 
an example of vibratory organic deformation. 
Further [on this particular hypothesis], there are 
two ways of determining the subsidiary conditions 
so as to satisfy the ordinary requirements of mathe- 
matical physics. The total energy, according to one 


vii THE QUANTUM THEORY 195 


of these ways, would satisfy the quantum condition; 
so that it consists of an integral number of units or 
cents, which are such that the cent of energy of any 
primate is proportional to its frequency. I have not 
worked out the conditions for stability or for a 
stable association. I have mentioned the particular 
hypothesis by way of showing by example that the 
organic theory of nature affords possibilities for the 
reconsideration of ultimate physical laws, which are 
not open to the opposed materialistic theory. 

In this particular hypothesis of vibratory pri- 
mates, the Maxwellian equations are supposed to 
hold throughout all space, including the interior of 
a proton. ‘They express the laws governing the 
vibratory production and absorption of energy. 
The whole process for each primate issues in a cer- 
tain average energy characteristic of the primate, 
and proportional to its mass. In fact the energy 
is the mass. There are vibratory radial streams 
of energy, both without and within a primate. 
Within the primate, there are vibratory distribu- 
tions of electric density. On the materialistic the- 
ory such density marks the presence of material: 
on the organic theory of vibration, it marks the 
vibratory production of energy. Such production 
is restricted to the interior of the primate. 

All science must start with some assumptions as 
to the ultimate analysis of the facts with which it 
deals. These assumptions are justified partly by 
their adherence to the types of occurrence of which 
we are directly conscious, and partly by their success 
in representing the observed facts with a certain 
generality, devoid of ad hoc suppositions. ‘The 


196 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


general theory of the vibration of primates, which 
I have outlined, is merely given as an example of 
the sort of possibilities which the organic theory 
leaves open for physical science. The point is that 
it adds the possibility of organic deformation to 
that of mere locomotion. Light waves form one 
ereat example of organic deformation. 

At any epoch the assumptions of a science are 
giving way, when they exhibit symptoms of the 
epicyclic state from which astronomy was rescued 
in the sixteenth century. Physical science is now 
exhibiting such symptoms. In order to reconsider 
its foundations, it must recur to a more concrete 
view of the character of real things, and must con- 
ceive its fundamental notions as abstractions derived 
from this direct intuition. It is in this way that it 
surveys the general possibilities of revision which 
are open to it. 

The discontinuities introduced by the quantum 
theory require revision of physical concepts in order 
to meet them. In particular, it has been pointed out 
that some theory of discontinuous existence is 
required. What is asked from such a theory, is 
that an orbit of an electron can be regarded as a 
series of detached positions, and not as a continuous 
line. . 

The theory of a primate or a vibrating pattern 
given above, together with the distinction between 
temporality and extensiveness in the previous chap- 
ter, yields exactly this result. It will be remembered 
that the continuity of the complex of events arises 
from the relationships of extensiveness; whereas the 
temporality arises from the realisation in a subject- 


— 


vir] THE QUANTUM THEORY 197 


event of a pattern which requires for its display that 
the whole of a duration be spatialised (i.e., 
arrested), as given by its aspects in the event. 
Thus realisation proceeds via a succession of epochal 
durations; and the continuous transition, i.e., the 
organic deformation, is within the duration which 
is already given. ‘The vibratory organic deforma- 
tion is in fact the reiteration of the pattern. One 
complete period defines the duration required for 
the complete pattern. Thus the primate is realised 
atomically in a succession of durations, each dura- 
tion to be measured from one maximum to another. 
Accordingly, so far as the primate as one enduring 
whole entity is to be taken account of, it is to be 
assigned to these durations successively. If it is 
considered as one thing, its orbit is to be diagram- 
matically exhibited by a series of detached dots. 
Thus the locomotion of the primate is discontinuous 
in space and time. If we go below the quanta of 
time which are the successive vibratory periods of 
the primate, we find a succession of vibratory elec- 
tromagnetic fields, each stationary in the space-time 
of its own duration. Each of these fields exhibits 
a single complete period of the electromagnetic 
vibration which constitutes the primate. ‘This vibra- 
tion is not to be thought of as the becoming of 
reality; it is what the primate is in one of its dis- 
continuous realisations. Also the successive dura- 
tions in which the primate is realised are contigu- 
ous; it follows that the life history of the primate 
can be exhibited as being the continuous develop- 
ment of occurrences in the electromagnetic field. 
But these occurrences enter into realisation as 


198 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD {[cu. vu] 


whole atomic blocks, occupying definite periods 
of time. 

There is no need to conceive that time is atomic 
in the sense that all patterns must be realised in the 
same successive durations. In the first place, even 
if the periods were the same in the case of two 
primates, the durations of realisation may not be the 
same. In other words, the two primates may be 
out of phase. Also if the periods are different, the 
atomism of any one duration of one primate is 
necessarily subdivided by the boundary moments of 
durations of the other primate. 

The laws of the locomotion of primates express 
under what conditions any primate will change its 
space-time system. 

It is unnecessary to pursue this conception further. 
The justification of the concept of vibratory exist- 
ence must be purely experimental. ‘The point illus- 
trated by this example is that the cosmological out- 
look, which is here adopted, is perfectly consistent 
with the demands for discontinuity which have been 
urged from the side of physics. Also if this concept 
of temporalisation as a successive realisation of 
epochal durations be adopted, the difficulty of Zeno 
is evaded. ‘The particular form, which has been 
given here to this concept, is purely for that purpose 
of illustration and must necessarily require recasting 
before it can be adapted to the results of experi- 
mental physics. 


GHAPTER IX 
SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 


In the present lecture, it is my object to consider 
some reactions of science upon the stream of philo- 
sophic thought during the modern centuries with 
which we are concerned. I shall make no attempt 
to compress a history of modern philosophy within 
the limits of one lecture. We shall merely consider 
some contacts between science and philosophy, in 
so far as they lie within the scheme of thought which 
it is the purpose of these lectures to develop. For 
this reason the whole of the great German idealistic 
movement will be ignored, as being out of effective 
touch with its contemporary science so far as recip- 
rocal modification of concepts is concerned. Kant, 
from whom this movement took its rise, was sat- 
urated with Newtonian physics, and with the ideas 
of the great French physicists—such as Clairaut,’ 
for instance—who developed the Newtonian ideas. 
But the philosophers who developed the Kantian 
school of thought, or who transformed it into 

* Cf. the curious evidence of Kant’s scientific reading in the 
Critique of Pure Reason, Transcendal Analytic, Second Analogy 
of Experience, where he refers to the phenomenon of capillary ac- 
tion. This is an unnecessarily complex illustration; a book resting 
on a table would have equally well sufficed. But the subject had 
just been adequately treated for the first time by Clairaut in an 


appendix to his Figure of the Earth. Kant evidently had read this 
appendix, and his mind was full of it. 


199 


200 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


Hegelianism, either lacked Kant’s background of 
scientific knowledge, or lacked his potentiality of 
becoming a great physicist if philosophy had not 
absorbed his main energies. 

The origin of modern philosophy is analogous to 
that of science, and is contemporaneous. ‘The gen- 
eral trend of its development was settled in the 
seventeenth century, partly at the hands of the same 
men who established the scientific principles. ‘[his 
settlement of purpose followed upon a transitional 
period dating from the fifteenth century. ‘There 
was in fact a general movement of European men- 
tality, which carried along with its stream, religion, 
science and philosophy. It may shortly be charac- 
terised as being the direct recurrence to the original 
sources of Greek inspiration on the part of men 
whose spiritual shape had been derived from inherit- 
ance from the Middle Ages. There was therefore 
no revival of Greek mentality. Epochs do not rise 
from the dead. The principles of aesthetics and 
of reason, which animated the Greek civilisation, 
were reclothed in a modern mentality. Between 
the two there lay other religions, other systems of 
law, other anarchies, and other racial inheritances, 
dividing the living from the dead. 

Philosophy is peculiarly sensitive to such differ- 
ences. For, whereas you can make a replica of an 
ancient statue, there is no possible replica of an 
ancient state of mind. There can be no nearer 
approximation than that which a masquerade bears 
to real life. There may be understanding of the 
past, but there is a difference between the modern 
and the ancient reactions to the same stimuli. 


Xx] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 201 


In the particular case of philosophy, the distinc- 
tion in tonality lies on the surface. Modern philos- 
ophy is tinged with subjectivism, as against the objec- 
tive attitude of the ancients. The same change is 
to be seen in religion. In the early history of the 
Christian Church, the theological interest centred in 
discussions on the nature of God, the meaning of the 
Incarnation, and apocalyptic forecasts of the ulti- 
mate fate of the world. At the Reformation, the 
Church was torn asunder by dissension as to the 
individual experiences of believers in respect to jus- 
tification. The individual subject of experience had 
been substituted for the total drama of all reality. 
Luther asked, ‘How am I justified?’; modern phi- 
losophers have asked, ‘How do I have knowledge ?” 
The emphasis lies upon the subject of experience. 
This change of standpoint is the work of Chris- 
tianity in its pastoral aspect of shepherding the com- 
pany of believers. For century after century it 
insisted upon the infinite worth of the individual 
human soul. Accordingly, to the instinctive egotism 
of physical desires, it has superadded an instinctive 
feeling of justification for an egotism of intellectual 
outlook. Every human being is the natural guardian 
of his own importance. Without a doubt, this mod- 
ern direction of attention emphasises truths of the 
highest value. For example, in the field of practical 
life, it has abolished slavery, and has impressed upon 
the popular imagination the primary rights of man- 
kind. 

Descartes, in his Discourse on Method, and in his 
Meditations, discloses with great clearness the gen- 
eral conceptions which have since influenced modern 


202 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (CH. 


philosophy. There is a subject receiving experience: 
in the Discourse this subject is always mentioned in 
the first person, that is to say, as being Descartes 
himself. Descartes starts with himself as being a 
mentality, which in virtue of its consciousness of its 
own inherent presentations of sense and of thought, 
is thereby conscious of its own existence as a unit 
entity. The subsequent history of philosophy 
revolves round the Cartesian formulation of the 
primary datum. The ancient world takes its stand 
upon the drama of the Universe, the modern world 
upon the inward drama of the Soul. Descartes, in 
his Meditations, expressly grounds the existence of 
this inward drama upon the possibility of error. 
There may be no correspondence with objective fact, 
and thus there must be a soul with activities whose - 
teality is purely derivative from itself. For exam- 
ple, here is a quotation * from Meditation II: ‘But 
it will be said that these presentations are false, 
and that I am dreaming. Let it be so. At all 
events it is certain that I seem to see light, hear 
a noise, and feel heat; this cannot be false, and 
this is what in me is properly called perceiving 
(sentire), which is nothing else than thinking. 
From this I begin to know what I am with somewhat 
greater clearness and distinctness than heretofore.’ 
Again in Meditation IIT: ‘. . . ; for, as I before 
remarked, although the things which I perceive or 
imagine are perhaps nothing at all apart from me, 
I am nevertheless assured that those modes of con- 
sciousness which I call perceptions and imaginations, 


* Quoted from Veitch’s translation. 


ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 203 


in as far only as they are modes of consciousness, 
exist in me.’ 

The objectivism of the medieval and the ancient 
worlds passed over into science. Nature is there 
conceived as for itself, with its own mutual reac- 
tions. Under the recent influence of relativity, there 
has been a tendency towards subjectivist formula- 
tions. But, apart from this recent exception, nature, 
in scientific thought, has had its laws formulated 
without any reference to dependence on individual 
observers. There is, however, this difference 
between the older and the later attitudes towards 
science. The anti-rationalism of the moderns has 
checked any attempt to harmonise the ultimate con- 
cepts of science with ideas drawn from a more con- 
crete survey of the whole of reality. The material, 
the space, the time, the various laws concerning 
the transition of material configurations, are taken 
as ultimate stubborn facts, not to be tampered 
with. 

The effect of this antagonism to philosophy has 
been equally unfortunate both for philosophy and 
for science. In this lecture we are concerned with 
philosophy. Philosophers are rationalists. ‘They 
are seeking to go behind stubborn and irreducible 
facts: they wish to explain in the light of universal 
principles the mutual reference between the various 
details entering into the flux of things. Also, they 
seek such principles as will eliminate mere arbi- 
trariness; so that, whatever portion of fact is 
assumed or given, the existence of the remainder 
of things shall satisfy some demand of rationality. 


204 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


They demand meaning. In the words of Henry 
Sidgwick *—‘It is the primary aim of philosophy 
to unify completely, bring into clear coherence, all 
departments of rational thought, and this aim can- 
not be realised by any philosophy that leaves out 
of its view the important body of judgments and 
reasonings which form the subject matter of ethics.’ 
Accordingly, the bias towards history on the part 
of the physical and social sciences with their refusal 
to rationalise below some ultimate mechanism, has 
pushed philosophy out of the effective currents of 
modern life. It has lost its proper role as a con- 
stant critic of partial formulations. It has retreated 
into the subjectivist sphere of mind, by reason of 
its expulsion by science from the objectivist sphere 
of matter. Thus the evolution of thought in the 
seventeenth century codperated with the enhanced 
sense of individual personality derived from the 
Middle Ages. We see Descartes taking his stand 
upon his own ultimate mind, which his philosophy 
assures him of; and asking about its relations to the 
ultimate matter—exemplified, in the second Medi- 
tation, by the human body and a lump of wax— 
which his science assumes. There is Aaron’s rod, 
and the magicians’ serpents; and the only question 
for philosophy is, which swallows which; or whether, 
as Descartes thought, they all lived happily together. 
In this stream of thought are to be found Locke, 
Berkeley, Hume, Kant. Two great names lie out- 
side this list, Spinoza and Leibniz. But there is a 
certain isolation of both of them in respect to their 
philosophical influence so far as science is concerned; 
* Cf. Henry Sidgwick: A Memoir, Appendix I. 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 205 


as though they had strayed to extremes which lie 
outside the boundaries of safe philosophy, Spinoza 
by retaining older ways of thought, and Leibniz by 
the novelty of his monads. 

The history of philosophy runs curiously parallel 
to that of science. In the case of both, the seven- 
teenth century set the stage for its two successors. 
But with the twentieth century a new act commences. 
It is an exaggeration to attribute a general change 
in a climate of thought to any one piece of writing, 
or to any one author. No doubt Descartes only 
expressed definitely and in decisive form what was 
already in the air of his period. Analogously, in 
attributing to William James the inauguration of 
a new stage in philosophy, we should be neglecting 
other influences of his time. But, admitting this, 
there still remains a certain fitness in contrasting 
his essay, Does Consciousness Exist, published in 
1904, with Descartes’ Discourse on Method, pub- 
lished in 1637. James clears the stage of the old 
paraphernalia; or rather he entirely alters its light- 
ing. ‘Take for example these two sentences from 
his essay: ‘To deny plumply that ‘‘consciousness”’ 
exists seems so absurd on the face of it—for unde- 
niably ‘“‘thoughts’’ do exist—that I fear some readers 
will follow me no farther. Let me then immedi- 
ately explain that I mean only to deny that the 
word stands for an entity, but to insist most emphat- 
ically that it does stand for a function.’ 

The scientific materialism and the Cartesian Ego 
were both challenged at the same moment, one by 
science and the other by philosophy, as represented 
by William James with his psychological antece- 


206 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


dents; and the double challenge marks the end of 
a period which lasted for about two hundred and 
fifty years. Of course, ‘matter’ and ‘consciousness’ 
both express something so evident in ordinary experi- 
ence that any philosophy must provide some things 
which answer to their respective meanings. But the 
point is that, in respect to both of them, the seven- 
teenth century settlement was infected with a pre- 
supposition which is now challenged. James denies 
that consciousness is an entity, but admits that it 1s 
a function. The discrimination between an entity 
and a function is therefore vital to the understand- 
ing of the challenge which James is advancing 
against the older modes of thought. In the essay 
in question, the character which James assigns to 
consciousness is fully discussed. But he does not 
unambiguously explain what he means by the notion 
of an entity, which he refuses to apply to conscious- 
ness. In the sentence which immediately follows the 
one which I have already quoted, he says: 

‘There is, I mean, no aboriginal stuff or quality 
of being, contrasted with that of which material 
objects are made, out of which our thoughts of them 
are made; but there is a function in experience which 
thoughts perform, and for the performance of which 
this quality of being is invoked. ‘That function is 
knowing. “Consciousness” is supposed necessary to 
explain the fact that things not only are, but get 
reported, are known.’ 

Thus James is denying that consciousness is a 
‘stuff.’ 

The term ‘entity,’ or even that of ‘stuff,’ does not 
fully tell its own tale. The notion of ‘entity’ is so 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 207 


general that it may be taken to mean anything that 
can be thought about. You cannot think of mere 
nothing; and the something which is an object of 
thought may be called an entity. In this sense, a 
function is an entity. Obviously, this is not what 
James had in his mind. 

In agreement with the organic theory of nature 
which I have been tentatively putting forward in 
these lectures, I shall for my own purposes construe 
James as denying exactly what Descartes asserts in 
his Discourse and his Meditations. Descartes dis- 
criminates two species of entities, matter and soul. 
The essence of matter is spatial extension; the 
essence of soul is its cogitation, in the full sense 
which Descartes assigns to the word cogitare. For 
example, in Section Fifty-three of Part I of his 
Principles of Philosophy, he enunciates: ‘That of 
every substance there is one principal attribute, as 
thinking of the mind, extension of the body.’ In 
the earlier, Fifty-first Section, Descartes states: ‘By 
substance we can conceive nothing else than a thing 
which exists in such a way as to stand in need of 
nothing beyond itself in order to its existence.’ 
Furthermore, later on, Descartes says: ‘For exam- 
ple, because any substance which ceases to endure 
ceases also to exist, duration is not distinct from 
substance except in thought; ...’ Thus we con- 
clude that, for Descartes, minds and bodies exist 
in such a way as to stand in need of nothing beyond 
themselves individually (God only excepted, as being 
the foundation of all things); that both minds and 
bodies endure, because without endurance they would 
cease to exist; that spatial extension is the essential 


208 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


attribute of bodies; and that cogitation is the essen- 
tial attribute of minds. 

It is difficult to praise too highly the genius exhib- 
ited by Descartes in the complete sections of his 
Principles which deal with these questions. It is 
worthy of the century in which he writes, and of the 
clearness of the French intellect. Descartes in his 
distinction between time and duration, and in his 
way of grounding time upon motion, and in his close 
relation between matter and extension, anticipates, 
as far as it was possible at his epoch, modern notions 
suggested by the doctrine of relativity, or by some 
aspects of Bergson’s doctrine of the generation of 
things. But the fundamental principles are so set 
out as to presuppose independently existing sub- 
stances with simple location in the community of 
temporal durations, and in the case of bodies, 
with simple location in the community of spatial 
extensions. hose principles lead straight to the 
theory of a materialistic, mechanistic nature, sur- 
veyed by cogitating minds. After the close of 
the seventeenth century, science took charge of the 
materialistic nature, and philosophy took charge of 
the cogitating minds. Some schools of philosophy 
admitted an ultimate dualism; and the various ideal- 
istic schools claimed that nature was merely the 
chief example of the cogitations of minds. But all 
schools admitted the Cartesian analysis of the ulti- 
mate elements of nature. I am excluding Spinoza 
and Leibniz from these statements as to the main 
stream of modern philosophy, as derivative from 
Descartes; though of course they were influenced 
by him, and in their turn influenced philosophers. 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 209 


I am thinking mainly of the effective contacts 
between science and philosophy. 

This division of territory between science and 
philosophy was not a simple business; and in fact 
it illustrated the weakness of the whole cut-and- 
dried presupposition upon which it rested. We are 
aware of nature as an interplay of bodies, colours, 
sounds, scents, tastes, touches and other various 
bodily feelings, displayed as in space, in patterns 
of mutual separation by intervening volumes, and 
of individual shape. Also the whole is a flux, chang- 
ing with the lapse of time. This systematic totality 
is disclosed to us as one complex of things. But the 
seventeenth century dualism cuts straight across it. 
The objective world of science was confined to mere 
spatial material with simple location in space and 
time, and subjected to definite rules as to its loco- 
motion. The subjective world of philosophy 
annexed the colours, sounds, scents, tastes, touches, 
bodily feelings, as forming the subjective content 
of the cogitations of the individual minds. Both 
worlds shared in the general flux; but time, as meas- 
ured, is assigned by Descartes to the cogitations of 
the observer’s mind. There is obviously one fatal 
weakness to this scheme. The cogitations of mind 
exhibit themselves as holding up entities, such as 
colours for instance, before the mind as the termini 
of contemplation. But in this theory these colours 
are, after all, merely the furniture of the mind. 
Accordingly, the mind seems to be confined to its 
own private world of cogitations. The subject- 
object conformation of experience in its entirety lies 
within the mind as one of its private passions. This 


210 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


conclusion from the Cartesian data is the starting 
point from which Berkeley, Hume, and Kant devel- 
oped their respective systems. And, antecedently 
to them, it was the point upon which Locke concen- 
trated as being the vital question. Thus the ques- 
tion as to how any knowledge is obtained of the 
truly objective world of science becomes a problem 
of the first magnitude. Descartes states that the 
objective body is perceived by the intellect. He 
says (Meditation II): ‘I must, therefore, admit 
that I cannot even comprehend by imagination what 
the piece of wax is, and that it is the mind alone 
which perceives it. I speak of one piece in partic- 
ular; for, as to wax in general, this is still more 
evident. But what is the piece of wax that can be 
perceived only by the mind? . . . The perception of 
it is neither an act of sight, of touch, nor of imagi- 
nation, and never was either of these, though it 
might formerly seem so, but is simply an intuition 
(inspectio) of the mind, ...’ It must be noted 
that the Latin word ‘inspectio’ is associated in its 
classical use with the notion of theory as opposed 
to practice. 

The two great preoccupations of modern philos- 
ophy now lie clearly before us. The study of mind 
divides into psychology, or the study of mental 
functionings as considered in themselves and in their 
mutual relations, and into epistemology, or the the- 
ory of the knowledge of a common objective world. 
In other words, there is the study of the cogitations, 
qua passions of the mind, and their study qua lead- 
ing to an inspection (intuition) of an objective 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 211 


world. This is a very uneasy division, giving rise 
to a host of perplexities whose consideration has 
occupied the intervening centuries. 

As long as men thought in terms of physical 
notions for the objective world and of mentality for 
the subjective world, the setting out of the problem, 
as achieved by Descartes, sufficed as a starting point. 
But the balance has been upset by the rise of physi- 
ology. Inthe seventeenth century men passed from 
the study of physics to the study of philosophy. 
Towards the end of the nineteenth century, notably 
in Germany, men passed from the study of physiol- 
ogy to the study of psychology. ‘The change in tone 
has been decisive. Of course, in the earlier period 
the intervention of the human body was fully con- 
sidered, for example, by Descartes in Part V of the 
Discourse on Method. But the physiological 
instinct had not been developed. In considering the 
human body, Descartes thought with the outfit of a 
physicist; whereas the modern psychologists are 
clothed with the mentalities of medical physiologists. 
The career of William James is an example of this 
change in standpoint. He also possessed the clear, 
incisive genius which could state in a flash the exact 
point at issue. 

The reason why I have put Descartes and James 
in close juxtaposition is now evident. Neither phi- 
losopher finished an epoch by a final solution of a 
problem. Their great merit is of the opposite sort. 
They each of them open an epoch by their clear 
formulation of terms in which thought could profita- 
bly express itself at particular stages of knowledge, 


212 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


one for the seventeenth century, the other for the 
twentieth century. In this respect, they are both 
to be contrasted with St. Thomas Aquinas, who 
expressed the culmination of Aristotelian scholas- 
ticism. 

In many ways neither Descartes nor James were 
the most characteristic philosophers of their respec- 
tive epochs. I should be disposed to ascribe these 
positions to Locke and to Bergson respectively, at 
least so far as concerns their relations to the science 
of their times. Locke developed the lines of thought 
which kept philosophy on the move; for example he 
emphasised the appeal to psychology. He initiated 
the age of epoch-making enquiries into urgent prob- 
lems of limited scope. Undoubtedly, in so doing, 
he infected philosophy with something of the anti- 
rationalism of science. But the very groundwork 
of a fruitful methodology is to start from those 
clear postulates which must be held to be ultimate 
so far as concerns the occasion in question. ‘The 
criticism of such methodological postulates is thus 
reserved for another opportunity. Locke discoy- 
ered that the philosophical situation bequeathed by 
Descartes involved the problems of epistemology 
and psychology. 

Bergson introduced into philosophy the organic 
conceptions of physiological science. He has most 
completely moved away from the static material- 
ism of the seventeenth century. His protest against 
spatialisation is a protest against taking the New- 
tonian conception of nature as being anything except 
a high abstraction. His so-called anti-intellectual- 
ism should be construed in this sense. In some 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 213 


respects he recurs to Descartes; but the recurrence 
is accompanied with an instinctive grasp of modern 
biology. 

There is another reason for associating Locke 
and Bergson. The germ of an organic theory of 
nature is to be found in Locke. His most recent 
expositor, Professor Gibson,” states that Locke’s 
way of conceiving the identity of self-consciousness 
‘like that of a living organism, involves a genuine 
transcending of the mechanical view of nature and 
of mind, embodied in the composition theory.’ But 
it is to be noticed that in the first place Locke wavers 
in his grasp of this position; and in the second place, 
what is more important still, he only applies his idea 
to self-consciousness. The physiological attitude 
has not yet established itself. The effect of physi- 
ology was to put mind back into nature. The neu- 
rologist traces first the effect of stimuli along the 
bodily nerves, then integration at nerve centres, and 
finally the rise of a projective reference beyond the 
body with a resulting motor efficacy in renewed nerv- 
ous excitement. In biochemistry, the delicate adjust- 
ment of the chemical composition of the parts to 
the preservation of the whole organism is detected. 
Thus the mental cognition is seen as the reflective 
experience of a totality, reporting for itself what 
it is in itself as one unit occurrence. ‘This unit is 
the integration of the sum of its partial happen- 
ings, but it is not their numerical aggregate. It has 
its Own unity as an event. This total unity, con- 
sidered as an entity for its own sake, is the prehen- 


* Cf. his book, Locke’s Theory of Knowledge and its Historical 
Relations, Camb. Univ. Press, 1917. 


214 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


sion into unity of the patterned aspects of the uni- 
verse of events. Its knowledge of itself arises from 
its own relevance to the things of which it prehends 
the aspects. It knows the world as a system of 
mutual relevance, and thus sees itself as mirrored 
in other things. These other things include more 
especially the various parts of its own body. 

It is important to discriminate the bodily pattern, 
which endures, from the bodily event, which is per- 
vaded by the enduring pattern, and from the parts 
of the bodily event. The parts of the bodily event 
are themselves pervaded by their own enduring pat- 
terns, which form elements in the bodily pattern. 
The parts of the body are really portions of the 
environment of the total bodily event, but so related 
that their mutual aspects, each in the other, are 
peculiarly effective in modifying the pattern of either. 
This arises from the intimate character of the rela- 
tion of whole to part. Thus the body is a portion 
of the environment for the part, and the part is 
a portion of the environment for the body; only 
they are peculiarly sensitive, each to modifications 
of the other. This sensitiveness is so arranged that 
the part adjusts itself to preserve the stability of 
the pattern of the body. It is a particular example 
of the favourable environment shielding the organ- 
ism. ‘The relation of part to whole has the special 
reciprocity associated with the notion of organism, 
in which the part is for the whole; but this relation 
reigns throughout nature and does not start with 
the special case of the higher organisms. 

Further, viewing the question as a matter of 
chemistry, there is no need to construe the actions 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 215 


of each molecule in a living body by its exclusive 
particular reference to the pattern of the complete 
living organism. It is true that each molecule is 
affected by the aspect of this pattern as mirrored 
in it, so as to be otherwise than what it would have 
been if placed elsewhere. In the same way, under 
some circumstances an electron may be a sphere, 
and under other circumstances an egg-shaped vol- 
ume. The mode of approach to the problem, so 
far as science is concerned, is merely to ask if 
molecules exhibit in living bodies properties which 
are not to be observed amid inorganic surroundings. 
In the same way, in a magnetic field soft iron exhibits 
magnetic properties which are in abeyance else- 
where. ‘The prompt self-preservative actions of 
living bodies, and our experience of the physical 
actions of our bodies following the determinations 
of will, suggest the modification of molecules in the 
body as the result of the total pattern. It seems 
possible that there may be physical laws expressing 
the modification of the ultimate basic organisms 
when they form part of higher organisms with ade- 
quate compactness of pattern. It would, however, 
be entirely in consonance with the empirically 
observed action of environments, if the direct effects 
of aspects as between the whole body and its parts 
were negligible. We should expect transmission. 
In this way the modification of total pattern would 
transmit itself by means of a series of modifications 
of a descending series of parts, so that finally the © 
modification of the cell changes its aspect in the 
molecule, thus effecting a corresponding alteration 
in the molecule—or in some subtler entity. Thus 


216 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


the question for physiology is the question of the 
physics of molecules in cells of different characters. 

We can now see the relation of psychology to 
physiology and to physics. ‘The private psychologi- 
cal field is merely the event considered from its own 
standpoint. The unity of this field is the unity of 
the event. But it is the event as one entity, and 
not the event as a sum of parts. The relations of 
the parts, to each other and to the whole, are their 
aspects, each in the other. A body for an external 
observer is the aggregate of the aspects for him of 
the body as a whole, and also of the body as a sum 
of parts. For the external observer the aspects of 
shape and of sense-objects are dominant, at least 
for cognition. But we must also allow for the pos- 
sibility that we can detect in ourselves direct aspects 
of the mentalities of higher organisms. ‘The claim 
that the cognition of alien mentalities must neces- 
sarily be by means of indirect inferences from 
aspects of shape and of sense-objects is wholly 
unwarranted by this philosophy of organism. The 
fundamental principle is that whatever merges into 
actuality, implants its aspects in every individual 
event. 

Further, even for self-cognition, the aspects of the 
parts of our own bodies partly take the form of 
aspects of shape, and of sense-objects. But that part 
of the bodily event, in respect to which the cognitive 
mentality is associated, is for itself the unit psycho- 
logical field. Its ingredients are not referent to the 
event itself; they are aspects of what lies beyond 
that event. Thus the self-knowledge inherent in 
the bodily event is the knowledge of itself as a com- 


1x] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 217 


plex unity, whose ingredients involve all reality 
beyond itself, restricted under the limitation of its 
pattern of aspects. ‘Thus we know ourselves as a 
function of unification of a plurality of things which 
are other than ourselves. Cognition discloses an 
event as being an activity, organising a real together- 
ness of alien things. But this psychological field 
does not depend on its cognition; so that this field 
is still a unit event as abstracted from its self-cog- 
nition. 

Accordingly, consciousness will be the function of 
knowing. But what is known is already a prehen- 
sion of aspects of the one real universe. These 
aspects are aspects of other events as mutually mod- 
ifying, each the others. In the pattern of aspects 
they stand in their pattern of mutual relatedness. 

The aboriginal data in terms of which the pattern 
weaves itself are the aspects of shapes, of sense- 
objects, and of other eternal objects whose self- 
identity is not dependent on the flux of things. 
Wherever such objects have ingression into the gen- 
eral flux, they interpret events, each to the other. 
They are here in the perceiver; but, as perceived by 
him, they convey for him something of the total 
flux which is beyond himself. ‘The subject-object 
relation takes its origin in the double role of these 
eternal objects. They are modifications of the sub- 
ject, but only in their character of conveying aspects 
of other subjects in the community of the universe. 
Thus no individual subject can have independent 
reality, since it is a prehension of limited aspects of 
subjects other than itself. 

The technical phrase ‘subject-object’ is a bad term 


218 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


for the fundamental situation disclosed in experi- 
ence. It is really reminiscent of the Aristotelian 
‘subject-predicate. It already presupposes the 
metaphysical doctrine of diverse subjects qualified 
by their private predicates. ‘This is the doctrine of 
subjects with private worlds of experience. If this 
be granted, there is no escape from solipsism. The 
point is that the phrase ‘subject-object’ indicates a 
fundamental entity underlying the objects. Thus 
the ‘objects,’ as thus conceived, are merely the 
ghosts of Aristotelian predicates. ‘The primary sit- 
uation disclosed in cognitive experience is ‘ego-object 
amid objects.’ By this I mean that the primary fact 
is an impartial world transcending the ‘here-now’ 
which marks the ego-object, and transcending the 
‘now which is the spatial world of simultaneous 
realisation. It is a world also including the actual- 
ity of the past, and the limited potentiality of the 
future, together with the complete world of abstract 
potentiality, the realm of eternal objects, which 
transcends, and finds exemplification in and compari- 
son with, the actual course of realisation. The ego- 
object, as consciousness here-now, is conscious of its 
experient essence as constituted by its internal 
relatedness to the world of realities, and to the 
world of ideas. But the ego-object, in being thus 
constituted, is within the world of realities, and 
exhibits itself as an organism requiring the ingres- 
sion of ideas for the purpose of this status among 
realities. This question of consciousness must be 
reserved for treatment on another occasion. 

The point to be made for the purpose of the pres- 
ent discussion is that a philosophy of nature as 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 219 


organic must start at the opposite end to that requi- 
site for a materialistic philosophy. ‘The material: 
istic starting point is from independently existing 
substances, matter and mind. ‘The matter suffers 
modifications of its external relations of locomotion, 
and the mind suffers modifications of its contem- 
plated objects. There are, in this materialistic the- 
ory, two sorts of independent substances, each qual- 
ified by their appropriate passions. ‘The organic 
starting point is from the analysis of process as the 
realisation of events disposed in an interlocked com- 
munity. The event is the unit of things real. The 
emergent enduring pattern is the stabilisation of 
the emergent achievement so as to become a fact 
which retains its identity throughout the process. 
It will be noted that endurance is not primarily the 
property of enduring beyond itself, but of enduring 
within itself. I mean that endurance is the property 
of finding its pattern reproduced in the temporal 
parts of the total event. It is in this sense that a 
total event carries an enduring pattern. There is an 
intrinsic value identical for the whole and for its 
succession of parts. Cognition is the emergence, 
into some measure of individualised reality, of the 
general substratum of activity, poising before itself 
possibility, actuality, and purpose. 

It is equally possible to arrive at this organic con- 
ception of the world if we start from the funda- 
mental notions of modern physics, instead of, as 
above, from psychology and physiology. In fact 
by reason of my own studies in mathematics and 
mathematical physics, I did in fact arrive at my 
convictions in this way. Mathematical physics pre- 


220 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


sumes in the first place an electromagnetic field of 
activity pervading space and time. ‘The laws which 
condition this field are nothing else than the condi- 
tions observed by the general activity of the flux of 
the world, as it individualises itself in the events. 
In physics, there is an abstraction. The science 
ignores what anything is in itself. Its entities are 
merely considered in respect to their extrinsic real- 
ity, that is to say, in respect to their aspects in other 
things. But the abstraction reaches even further 
than that; for it is only the aspects in other things, 
as modifying the spatio-temporal specifications of 
the life histories of those other things, which count. 
The intrinsic reality of the observer comes in: I 
mean what the observer is for himself is appealed 
to. For example, the fact that he will see red or 
blue enters into scientific statements. But the red 
which the observer sees does not in truth enter into 
science. What is relevant is merely the bare diver- 
sity of the observer’s red experiences from all of his 
other experiences. Accordingly, the intrinsic char- 
acter of the observer is merely relevant in order to 
fix the self-identical individuality of the physical 
entities. These entities are only considered as 
agencies in fixing the routes in space and in time of 
the life histories of enduring entities. 

The phraseology of physics is derived from the 
materialistic ideas of the seventeenth century. But 
we find that, even in its extreme abstraction, what 
it is really presupposing is the organic theory of 
aspects as explained above. First, consider any 
event in empty space where the word ‘empty’ means 
devoid of electrons, or protons, or of any other 


1x] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 221 


form of electric charge. Such an event has three 
roles in physics. In the first place, it is the actual 
scene of an adventure of energy, either as its habitat 
or as the locus of a particular stream of energy: 
anyhow, in this role the energy is there, either as 
located in space during the time considered, or as 
streaming through space. 

In its second role, the event is a necessary link in 
the pattern of transmission, by which the character 
of every event receives some modification from the 
character of every other event. 

In its third rdle, the event is the repository of a 
possibility, as to what would happen to an electric 
charge, either by way of deformation or of locomo- 
tion, if it should have happened to be there. 

If we modify our assumption by considering an 
event which includes in itself a portion of the life- 
history of an electric charge, then the analysis of 
its three roles still remains; except that the possi- 
bility embodied in the third role is now transformed 
into an actuality. In this replacement of possibility 
by actuality, we obtain the distinction between empty 
and occupied events. 

Recurring to the empty events, we note the defici- 
ency in them of individuality of intrinsic content. 
Considering the first role of an empty event, as 
being a habitat of energy, we note that there is no 
individual discrimination of an individual bit of 
energy, either as statically located, or as an element 
in the stream. There is simply a quantitative deter- 
mination of activity, without individualisation of 
the activity in itself. This lack of individualisation 
is still more evident in the second and third roles. 


222 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


An empty event is something in itself, but it fails 
to realise a stable individuality of content. So far 
as its content is concerned, the empty event is one 
realised element in a general scheme of organised 
activity. 

Some qualification is required when the empty 
event is the scene of the transmission of a definite 
train of recurrent wave-forms. ‘There is now a def- 
inite pattern which remains permanent in the event. 
We find here the first faint trace of enduring indi- 
viduality. But it is individuality without the faintest 
capture of originality: for it is merely a permanence 
arising solely from the implication of the event in 
a larger scheme of patterning. 

Turning now to the examination of an occupied 
event, the electron has a determinate individuality. 
It can be traced throughout its life-history through 
a variety of events. A collection of electrons, 
together with the analogous atomic charges of posi- 
tive electricity, forms a body such as we ordinarily 
perceive. The simplest body of this kind is a 
molecule, and a set of molecules forms a lump of 
ordinary matter, such as a chair, or a stone. ‘hus 
a charge of electricity is the mark of individuality 
of content, as additional to the individuality of an 
event in itself. This individuality of content is the 
strong point of the materialistic doctrine. 

It can, however, be equally well explained on the 
theory of organism. When we look into the func- 
tion of the electric charge, we note that its rdle is to 
mark the origination of a pattern which is trans- 
mitted through space and time. It is the key of 
some particular pattern. For example, the field of 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 223 


force in any event is to be constructed by attention 
to the adventures of electrons and protons, and so 
also are the streams and distributions of energy. 
Further, the electric waves find their origin in the 
vibratory adventures of these charges. Thus the 
transmitted pattern is to be conceived as the flux 
of aspects throughout space and time derived from 
the life history of the atomic charge. ‘The indi- 
vidualisation of the charge arises by a conjunction 
of two characters, in the first place by the continued 
identity of its mode of functioning as a key for the 
determination of a diffusion of pattern; and, in the 
second place, by the unity and continuity of its life 
history. 

We may conclude, therefore, that the organic 
theory represents directly what physics actually does 
assume respecting its ultimate entities. We also 
notice the complete futility of these entities, if they 
are conceived as fully concrete individuals. So far 
as physics is concerned, they are wholly occupied 
in moving each other about, and they have no real- 
ity outside this function. In particular for physics, 
there is no intrinsic reality. 

It is obvious that the basing of philosophy upon 
the presupposition of organism must be traced back 
to Leibniz.* His monads are for him the ultimately 
real entities. But he retained the Cartesian sub- 
stances with their qualifying passions, as also equally 
expressing for him the final characterisation of real 
things. Accordingly for him there was no concrete 
reality of internal relations. He had therefore on 


* Cf. Bertrand Russell, The Philosophy of Leibniz, for the sug- 
gestion of this line of thought. 


224 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


his hands two distinct points of view. One was that 
the final real entity is an organising activity, fusing 
ingredients into a unity, so that this unity is the 
reality. The other point of view is that the final real 
entities are substances supporting qualities. The 
first point of view depends upon the acceptance of 
internal relations binding together all reality. The 
latter is inconsistent with the reality of such rela- 
tions. To combine these two points of view, his 
monads were therefore windowless; and their pas- 
sions merely mirrored the universe by the divine 
arrangement of a preéstablished harmony. ‘This 
system thus presupposed an aggregate of independ- 
ent entities. He did not discriminate the event, as 
the unit of experience, from the enduring organism 
as its stabilisation into importance, and from the 
cognitive organism as expressing an increased com- 
pleteness of individualisation. Nor did he admit 
the many-termed relations, relating sense-data to 
various events in diverse ways. These many-termed 
relations are in fact the perspectives which Leibniz 
does admit, but only on the condition that they are 
purely qualities of the organising monads. The 
difficulty really arises from the unquestioned accept- 
ance of the notion of simple location as fundamental 
for space and time, and from the acceptance of the 
notion of independent individual substance as funda- 
mental for a real entity. The only road open to 
Leibniz was thus the same as that later taken by 
Berkeley [in a prevalent interpretation of his mean- 
ing], namely an appeal to a deus ex machina who 
was capable of rising superior to the difficulties of 
metaphysics. 


Ix] SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY 225 


In the same way as Descartes introduced the tra: 
dition of thought which kept subsequent philosophy 
in some measure of contact with the scientific move: 
ment, so Leibniz introduced the alternative tradition 
that the entities, which are the ultimate actual 
things, are in some sense procedures of organisa- 
tion. This tradition has been the foundation of 
the great achievements of German philosophy. 
Kant reflected the two traditions, one upon the 
other. Kant was a scientist, but the schools deriva- 
tive from Kant have had but slight effect on the 
mentality of the scientific world. It should be the 
task of the philosophical schools of this century to 
bring together the two streams into an expression 
of the world-picture derived from science, and 
thereby end the divorce of science from the affirma- 
tions of our aesthetic and ethical experiences. 


CHAPTER X 
ABSTRACTION 


In the previous chapters I have been examining the 
reactions of the scientific movement upon the deeper 
issues which have occupied modern thinkers. No 
one man, no limited society of men, and no one 
epoch can think of everything at once. Accordingly 
for the sake of eliciting the various impacts of sci- 
ence upon thought, the topic has been treated his- 
torically. In this retrospect I have kept in mind 
that the ultimate issue of the whole story is the 
patent dissolution of the comfortable scheme of sci- 
entific materialism which has dominated the three 
centuries under review. Accordingly various schools 
of criticism of the dominant opinions have been 
stressed; and [I have endeavoured to outline an 
alternative cosmological doctrine, which shall be 
wide enough to include what is fundamental both 
for science and for its critics. In this alternative 
scheme, the notion of material, as fundamental, has 
been replaced by that of organic synthesis. But the 
approach has always been from the consideration 
of the actual intricacies of scientific thought, and of 
the peculiar perplexities which it suggests. 

In the present chapter, and in the immediately 
succeeding chapter, we will forget the peculiar prob- 
lems of modern science, and will put ourselves at the 

226 


[cu. x] ABSTRACTION 227 


standpoint of a dispassionate consideration of the 
nature of things, antecedently to any special inves- 
tigation into their details. Such a standpoint is 
termed ‘metaphysical.’ Accordingly those readers 
who find metaphysics, even in two slight chapters, 
irksome, will do well to proceed at once to the Chap- 
ter on ‘Religion and Science,’ which resumes the 
topic of the impact of science on modern thought. 

These metaphysical chapters are purely descrip- 
tive. ‘Their justification is to be sought, (1) in our 
direct knowledge of the actual occasions which com- 
pose our immediate experience, and (ii) in their suc- 
cess as forming a basis for harmonising our system- 
atised accounts of various types of experience, and 
(iii) in their success as providing the concepts in 
terms of which an epistemology can be framed. By 
(iii) I mean that an account of the general charac- 
ter of what we know must enable us to frame an 
account of how knowledge is possible as an adjunct 
within things known. 

In any occasion of cognition, that which is known 
is an actual occasion of experience, as diversified * 
by reference to a realm of entities which transcend 
that immediate occasion in that they have analogous 
or different connections with other occasions of expe- 
rience. For example a definite shade of red may, in 
the immediate occasion, be implicated with the shape 
of sphericity in some definite way. But that shade 
of red, and that spherical shape, exhibit themselves 
as transcending that occasion, in that either of them 
has other relationships to other occasions. Also, 
apart from the actual occurrence of the same things 

1 Cf. my Principles of Natural Knowledge, Ch. V, See. 13. 


228 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH.° 


in other occasions, every actual occasion is set within 
a realm of alternative interconnected entities. This 
realm is disclosed by all the untrue propositions 
which can be predicated significantly of that occa- 
sion. It is the realm of alternative suggestions, 
whose foothold in actuality transcends each actual 
occasion. The real relevance of untrue propositions 
for each actual occasion is disclosed by art, romance, 
and by criticism in reference toideals. It is the foun- 
dation of the metaphysical position which I am 
maintaining that the understanding of actuality re- 
quires a reference to ideality. The two realms are 
intrinsically inherent in the total metaphysical situ- 
ation. The truth that some proposition respecting 
an actual occasion is untrue may express the vital 
truth as to the aesthetic achievement. It expresses 
the ‘great refusal’ which is its primary character- 
istic. An event is decisive in proportion to the 
importance (for it) of its untrue propositions: their 
relevance to the event cannot be dissociated from 
what the event is in itself by way of achievement. 
These transcendent entities have been termed ‘uni- 
versals.’ I prefer to use the term ‘eternal objects,’ 
in order to disengage myself from presuppositions 
which cling to the former term owing to its pro- 
longed philosophical history. Eternal objects are 
thus, in their nature, abstract. By ‘abstract’ I mean 
that what an eternal object is in itself—that is to 
say, its essence—is comprehensible without refer- 
ence to some one particular occasion of experience. 
To be abstract is to transcend particular concrete 
occasions of actual happening. But to transcend an 
actual occasion does not mean being disconnected 


x] ABSTRACTION 229 


from it. On the contrary, I hold that each eternal 
object has its own proper connection with each such 
occasion, which I term its mode of ingression into 
that occasion. Thus an eternal object is to be com- 
prehended by acquaintance with (i) its particular 
individuality, (11) its general relationships to other 
eternal objects as apt for realisation in actual occa- 
sions, and (iii) the general principle which expresses 
its ingression in particular actual occasions. 

These three headings express two principles. The 
first principle is that each eternal object is an indi- 
vidual which, in its own peculiar fashion, is what 
itis. This particular individuality is the individual 
essence of the object, and cannot be described other- 
wise than as being itself. Thus the individual es- 
sence is merely the essence considered in respect to 
its uniqueness. Further, the essence of an eternal 
object is merely the eternal object considered as add- 
ing its own unique contribution to each actual occa- 
sion. This unique contribution is identical for all 
such occasions in respect to the fact that the object 
in all modes of ingression is just its identical self. 
But it varies from one occasion to another in respect 
to the differences of its modes of ingression. ‘Thus 
the metaphysical status of an eternal object is that 
of a possibility for an actuality. Every actual occa- 
sion is defined as to its character by how these pos- 
sibilities are actualised for that occasion. Thus ac- 
tualisation is a selection among possibilities. More 
accurately, it is a selection issuing in a gradation of 
possibilities in respect to their realisation in that 
occasion. ‘This conclusion brings us to the second 
metaphysical principle: An eternal object, consid- 


230 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


ered as an abstract entity, cannot be divorced from 
its reference to other eternal objects, and from its 
reference to actuality generally; though it is discon- 
nected from its actual modes of ingression into defi- 
nite actual occasions. This principle is expressed by 
the statement that each eternal object has a ‘rela- 
tional essence.’ This relational essence determines 
how it is possible for the object to have ingression 
into actual occasions. 

In other words: If 4 be an eternal object, then 
what J is in itself involves 4’s status in the universe, 
and 4 cannot be divorced from this status. In the 
essence of 4 there stands a determinateness as to the 
relationships of 4 to other eternal objects, and an 
indeterminateness as to the relationships of 4 to 
actual occasions. Since the relationships of 4 to 
other eternal objects stand determinately in the es- 
sence of 4, it follows that they are internal rela- 
tions. I mean by this that these relationships are 
constitutive of 4; for an entity which stands in inter- 
nal relations has no being as an entity not in 
these relations. In other words, once with internal 
relations, always with internal relations. The 
internal relationships of 4 conjointly form its sig- 
nificance. 

Again an entity cannot stand in external relations 
unless in its essence there stands an indeterminate- 
ness which is its patience for such external relations. 
The meaning of the term ‘possibility’ as applied to 
A is simply that there stands in the essence of 4 a 
patience for relationships to actual occasions. ‘The 
relationships of 4 to an actual occasion are simply 
how the eternal relationships of 4 to other eternal 


x] ABSTRACTION 231 


objects are graded as to their realisation in that 
occasion. 

Thus the general principle which expresses 4’s 
ingression in the particular actual occasion a is the 
indeterminateness which stands in the essence of 4 
as to its ingression into a, and is the determinateness 
which stands in the essence of « as to the ingression 
of 4 into a. Thus the synthetic prehension, which 
is a, is the solution of the indeterminateness of 4 
into the determinateness of a. Accordingly the rela- 
tionship between 4 and «@ is external as regards 4, 
and is internal as regards a. Every actual occasion 
a is the solution of all modalities into actual cate- 
gorical ingressions: truth and falsehood take the 
place of possibility. The complete ingression of 4 
into a is expressed by all the true propositions which 
are about 4d and a, and also—it may be—about 
other things. 

The determinate relatedness of the eternal object 
A to every other eternal object is how 4 is system- 
atically and by the necessity of its nature related to 
every other eternal object. Such relatedness repre- 
sents a possibility for realisation. But a relation- 
ship is a fact which concerns all the implicated relata, 
and cannot be isolated as if involving only one of 
the relata. Accordingly there is a general fact of sys- 
tematic mutual relatedness which is inherent in the 
character of possibility. ‘The realm of eternal ob- 
jects is properly described as a ‘realm,’ because each 
eternal object has its status in this general system- 
atic complex of mutual relatedness. 

In respect to the ingression of 4 into an actual 
occasion a, the mutual relationships of 4 to other 


232 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


eternal objects, as thus graded in realisation, require 
for their expression a reference to the status of d 
and of the other eternal objects in the spatio-tem- 
poral relationship. Also this status is not expressible 
(for this purpose) without a reference to the status 
of a and of other actual occasions in the same spatio- 
temporal relationship. Accordingly the _ spatio- 
temporal relationship, in terms of which the actual 
course of events is to be expressed, is nothing else 
than a selective limitation within the general system- 
atic relationships among eternal objects. By ‘limita- 
tion,’ as applied to the spatio-temporal continuum, I 
mean those matter-of-fact determinations—such as 
the three dimensions of space, and the four dimen- 
sions of the spatio-temporal continuum—which are 
inherent in the actual course of events, but which 
present themselves as arbitrary in respect to a more 
abstract possibility. The consideration of these gen- 
eral limitations at the base of actual things, as dis- 
tinct from the limitations peculiar to each actual oc- 
casion, will be more fully resumed in the chapter on 
‘God.’ 

Further, the status of all possibility in reference to 
actuality requires a reference to this spatio-temporal 
continuum. In any particular consideration of a 
possibility we may conceive this continuum to be 
transcended. But in so far as there is any definite 
reference to actuality, the definite how of trans- 
cendence of that spatio-temporal continuum is re- 
quired. Thus primarily the spatio-temporal con- 
tinuum is a locus of relational possibility, selected 
from the more general realm of systematic relation- 
ship. This limited locus of relational possibility 


x] ABSTRACTION 233 


expresses one limitation of possibility inherent in 
the general system of the process of realisation. 
Whatever possibility is generally coherent with that 
system falls within this limitation. Also whatever is 
abstractedly possible in relation to the general course 
of events—as distinct from the particular limitations 
introduced by particular occasions—pervades the 
spatio-temporal continuum in every alternative spa- 
tial situation and at all alternative times. 

Fundamentally, the spatio-temporal continuum is 
the general system of relatedness of all possibilities, 
in so far as that system is limited by its relevance to 
the general fact of actuality. Also it is inherent in 
the nature of possibility that it should include this 
relevance to actuality. For possibility is that in 
which there stands achievability, abstracted from 
achievement. 

It has already been emphasised that an actual oc- 
casion is to be conceived as a limitation; and that 
this process of limitation can be still further charac- 
terised as a gradation. ‘This characteristic of an 
actual occasion(a, say) requires further elucidation: 
An indeterminateness stands in the essence of any 
eternal object (4, say). The actual occasion a syn- 
thesises in itself every eternal object; and, in so 
doing, it includes the complete determinate related- 
ness of 4 to every other eternal object, or set of 
eternal objects. This synthesis is a limitation of 
realisation but not of content. Each relationship 
preserves its inherent self-identity. But grades of 
entry into this synthesis are inherent in each actual 
occasion, such as a. ‘These grades can be expressed 
only as relevance of value. This relevance of value 


234 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


varies—as comparing different occasions—in grade 
from the inclusion of the individual essence of 4 as 
an element in the aesthetic synthesis (in some grade 
of inclusion) to the lowest grade which is the exclu- 
sion of the individual essence of 4 as an element in 
the aesthetic synthesis. In so far as it stands in this 
lowest grade, every determinate relationship of 4 
is merely ingredient in the occasion in respect to the 
determinate how this relationship is an unfulfilled 
alternative, not contributing any aesthetic value, ex- 
cept as forming an element in the systematic sub- 
stratum of unfulfilled content. In a higher grade, it 
may remain unfulfilled, but be aesthetically relevant. 

Thus 4, conceived merely in respect to its rela- 
tionships to other eternal objects, is ‘4 conceived as 
not-being’ ; where ‘not-being’ means ‘abstracted from 
the determinate fact of inclusions in, and exclusions 
from, actual events.’ Also ‘4 as not-being in respect 
to a definite occasion a means that 4 in all its de- 
terminate relationships is excluded from a. Again 
‘A as being in respect to @ means that A in some of 
its determinate relationships is included in a, But 
there can be no occasion which includes 4 in all its 
determinate relationships; for some of these rela- 
tionships are contraries. Thus, in regard to excluded 
relationships, 4 will be not-being in a, even when in 
regard to other relationships 4 will be beingina. In 
this sense, every occasion is a synthesis of being and 
not-being. Furthermore, though some eternal ob- 
jects are synthesised in an occasion a merely qua not- 
being, each eternal object which is synthesised gua 
being is also synthesised qua not-being, ‘Being’ here 


x] ABSTRACTION 235 


means ‘individually effective in the aesthetic syn- 
thesis.’ Also the ‘aesthetic synthesis’ is the ‘experi- 
ent synthesis’ viewed as self-creative, under the 
limitations laid upon it by its internal relatedness to 
all other actual occasions. We thus conclude—what 
has already been stated above—that the general fact 
of the synthetic prehension of all eternal objects into 
every occasion wears the double aspect of the inde- 
terminate relatedness of each eternal object to occa- 
sions generally, and of its determinate relatedness 
to each particular occasion. ‘This statement sum- 
marises the account of how external relations are 
possible. But the account depends upon disengaging 
the spatio-temporal continuum from its mere impli- 
cation in actual occasions—according to the usual 
explanation—and upon exhibiting it in its origin 
from the general nature of abstract possibility, as 
limited by the general character of the actual course 
of events. 

The difficulty which arises in respect to internal 
relations is to explain how any particular truth is 
possible. In so far as there are internal relations, 
everything must depend upon everything else. But 
if this be the case, we cannot know about anything 
till we equally know everything else. Apparently, 
therefore, we are under the necessity of saying every- 
thing at once. This supposed necessity is palpably 
untrue. Accordingly it is incumbent on us to explain 
how there can be internal relations, seeing that we 
admit finite truths. 

Since actual occasions are selections from the 
realm of possibilities, the ultimate explanation of 


236 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


how actual occasions have the general character 
which they do have, must lie in an analysis of the 
general character of the realm of possibility. 

The analytical character of the realm of eternal 
objects is the primary metaphysical truth concerning 
it. By this character it is meant that the status of 
any eternal object 4 in this realm is capable of 
analysis into an indefinite number of subordinate 
relationships of limited scope. For example if B 
and C are two other eternal objects, then there is 
some perfectly definite relationship R(4, B, C) 
which involves 4, B, C only, as to require the men- 
tion of no other definite eternal objects in the capac- 
ity of relata. Of course, the relationship R(A, B, 
C’) may involve subordinate relationships which are 
themselves eternal objects, and R(d, B, C) is also 
itself an eternal object. Also there will be other re- 
lationships which in the same sense involve only 
A, B,C. We have now to examine how, having re- 
gard to the internal relatedness of eternal objects, 
this limited relationship R(4, B, C) is possible. 

The reason for the existence of finite relationships 
in the realm of eternal objects is that relationships 
of these objects among themselves are entirely un- 
selective, and are systematically complete. We are 
discussing possibility; so that every relationship 
which is possible is thereby in the realm of possibil- 
ity. Every such relationship of each eternal object 
is founded upon the perfectly definite status of that 
object as a relatum in the general scheme of rela- 
tionships. ‘This definite status is what I have termed 
the ‘relational essence’ of the object. This relational 
essence is determinable by reference to that object 


x] ABSTRACTION 237 


alone, and does not require reference to any other 
objects, except those which are specifically involved 
in its individual essence when that essence is com- 
plex (as will be explained immediately). The mean- 
ing of the words ‘any’ and ‘some’ springs from this 
principle—that is to say, the meaning of the ‘vari- 
able’ in logic. The whole principle is that a par- 
ticular determination can be made of the how of 
some definite relationship of a definite eternal object 
A to a definite finite number n of other eternal ob- 
jects, without any determination of the other n 
Opjectsweu 4, . es AX, except that:they: have, each 
of them, the requisite status to play their respective 
parts in that multiple relationship. This principle 
depends on the fact that the relational essence of an 
eternal object is not unique to that object. The 
mere relational essence of each eternal object deter- 
mines the complete uniform scheme of relational es- 
sences, since each object stands internally in all its 
possible relationships. Thus the realm of possibility 
provides a uniform scheme of relationships among 
finite sets of eternal objects; and all eternal objects 
stand in all such relationships, so far as the status 
of each permits. 

Accordingly the relationships (as in possibility) 
do not involve the individual essences of the eternal 
objects; they involve any eternal objects as relata, 
subject to the proviso that these relata have the 
requisite relational essences. [It is this proviso 
which, automatically and by the nature of the case, 
limits the ‘any’ of the phrase ‘any eternal objects.’ | 
This principle is the principle of the Jsolation of 
Eternal Objects in the realm of possibility. The 


238 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


eternal objects are isolated, because their relation- 
ships as possibilities are expressible without refer- 
ence to their respective individual essences. In con- 
trast to the realm of possibility the inclusion of 
eternal objects within an actual occasion means that 
in respect to some of their possible relationships 
there is a togetherness of their individual essences. 
This realised togetherness is the achievement of an 
emergent value defined—or, shaped—by the definite 
eternal relatedness in respect to which the real to- 
getherness is achieved. Thus the eternal relatedness 
is the form—the eidoc—; the emergent actual occa- 
sion is the superject of informed value; value, as 
abstracted from any particular superject, is the ab- 
stract matter—the VAn—which is common to all 
actual occasions; and the synthetic activity which 
prehends valueless possibility into superjicient in- 
formed value is the substantial activity. This sub- 
stantial activity is that which is omitted in any 
analysis of the static factors in the metaphysical sit- 
uation. he analysed elements of the situation are 
the attributes of the substantial activity. 

The difficulty inherent in the concept of finite in- 
ternal relations among eternal objects is thus evaded 
by two metaphysical principles, (i) that the relation- 
ships of any eternal object 4, considered as constitu- 
tive of 4, merely involve other eternal objects as 
bare relata without reference to their individual 
essences, and (ii) that the divisibility of the general 
relationship of 4 into a multiplicity of finite relation- 
ships of 4 stands therefore in the essence of that 
eternal object. The second principle obviously de- 
pends upon the first. To understand 2 is to under- 


x] ABSTRACTION 239 


stand the how of a general scheme of relationship. 
This scheme of relationship does not require the 
individual uniqueness of the other relata for its com- 
prehension. ‘This scheme also discloses itself as be- 
ing analysable into a multiplicity of limited relation- 
ships which have their own individuality and yet at 
the same time presupposes the total relationship 
within possibility. In respect to actuality there is 
first the general limitation of relationships, which 
reduces this general unlimited scheme to the four- 
dimensional spatio-temporal scheme. ‘This spatio- 
temporal scheme is, so to speak, the greatest com- 
mon measure of the schemes of relationship (as lim- 
ited by actuality) inherent in all the eternal objects. 
By this it is meant that, how select relationships of 
an eternal object (4) are realised in any actual oc- 
casion, is always explicable by expressing the status 
of 4 in respect to this spatio-temporal scheme, and 
by expressing in this scheme the relationship of the 
actual occasion to other actual occasions. A definite 
finite relationship involving the definite eternal ob- 
jects of a limited set of such objects is itself an eter- 
nal object: it is those eternal objects as in that rela- 
tionship. I will call such an eternal object ‘complex.’ 
The eternal objects which are the relata in a complex 
eternal object will be called the ‘components’ of that 
eternal object. Also if any of these relata are them- 
selves complex, their components will be called ‘de- 
rivative components’ of the original complex object. 
Also the components of derivative components will 
also be called derivative components of the original 
object. Thus the complexity of an eternal object 
means its analysability into a relationship of com- 


240 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cuH. 


ponent eternal objects. Also the analysis of the gen- 
eral scheme of relatedness of eternal objects means 
its exhibition as a multiplicity of complex eternal 
objects. An eternal object, such as a definite shade 
of green, which cannot be analysed into a relation- 
ship of components, will be called ‘simple.’ 

We can now explain how the analytical character 
of the realm of eternal objects allows of an analysis 
of that realm into grades. 

In the lowest grade of eternal objects are to be 
placed those objects whose individual essences are 
simple. This is the grade of zero complexity. Next 
consider any set of such objects, finite or infinite as 
to the number of its members. For example, con- 
sider the set of three eternal objects 4, B, C, of 
which none is complex. Let us write R(d, B, C) 
for some definite possible relatedness of 4, B, C. 
To take a simple example, 4, B, C may be three 
definite colours with the spatio-temporal relatedness 
to each other of three faces of a regular tetrahedron, 
anywhere at any time. Then R(A, B, C) is another 
eternal object of the lowest complex grade. Ana- 
logously there are eternal objects of successively 
higher grades. In respect to any complex eternal 
object; 5 (Dj; Dz,....D,), the eternaliobjectesa 

. . D,, whose accra essences are constitutive 
of he individual essence of S(D,, . . . D,), are 
called the components of $(D,,... .)D,)iyitus 
obvious that the grade of complexity to be ascribed 
to S(D,, . . . D,), is to be taken as one above the 
highest grade of complexity to be found among its 
components. 

There is thus an analysis of the realm of possibil- 


x] ABSTRACTION 241 


ity into simple eternal objects, and into various 
grades of complex eternal objects. A complex eter- 
nal object is an abstract situation. There is a double 
sense of ‘abstraction,’ in regard to the abstraction of 
definite eternal objects, i.e., non-mathematical ab- 
straction. There is abstraction from actuality, and 
abstraction from possibility. For example, 4 and 
R(A, B, C) are both abstractions from the realm of 
possibility. Note that 4 must mean Z in all its pos- 
sible relationships, and among them R(d, B, C). 
Also R(A, B, C) means R(A, B, C) in all its rela- 
tionships. But this meaning of R(A, B, C) excludes 
other relationships into which 4 can enter. Hence 
A as in R(A, B, C) is more abstract than 4 sim- 
pliciter. ‘Thus as we pass from the grade of simple 
eternal objects to higher and higher grades of com- 
plexity, we are indulging in higher grades of abstrac- 
tion from the realm of possibility. 

We can now conceive the successive stages of a 
definite progress towards some assigned mode of 
abstraction from the realm of possibility, involving 
a progress (in thought) through successive grades 
of increasing complexity. I will call any such route 
of progress ‘an abstractive hierarchy.’ Any ab- 
stractive hierarchy, finite or infinite, is based upon 
some definite group of simple eternal objects. ‘This 
group will be called the ‘base’ of the hierarchy. 
Thus the base of an abstractive hierarchy is a set of 
objects of zero complexity. The formal definition 
_ of an abstractive hierarchy is as follows: 

An ‘abstractive hierarchy based upon g,’ where g 
is a group of simple eternal objects, is a set of eter- 
nal objects which satisfy the following conditions, 


242 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


(1) the members of g belong to it, and are the 
only simple eternal objects in the hierarchy, 

(i1) the components of any complex eternal ob- 
ject in the hierarchy are also members of the hier- 
archy, and 

(iii) any set of eternal objects belonging to the 
hierarchy, whether all of the same grade or whether 
differing among themselves as to grade, are jointly 
among the components or derivative components of 
at least one eternal object which also belongs to the 
hierarchy. | 

It is to be noticed that the components of an eter- 
nal object are necessarily of a lower grade of com- 
plexity than itself. Accordingly any member of such 
a hierarchy, which is of the first grade of complexity, 
can have as components only members of the group 
g; and any member of the second grade can have as 
components only members of the first grade, and 
members of g; and so on for the higher grades. 

The third condition to be satisfied by an abstrac- 
tive hierarchy will be called the condition of con- 
nexity. hus an abstractive hierarchy springs from 
its base; it includes every successive grade from its 
base either indefinitely onwards, or to its maximum 
grade; and it is ‘connected’ by the reappearance (in 
a higher grade) of any set of its members belonging 
to lower grades, in the function of a set of compo- 
nents or derivative components of at least one mem- 
ber of the hierarchy. 

An abstractive hierarchy is called ‘finite’ if it stops 
at a finite grade of complexity. It is called ‘infinite’ 
if it includes members belonging respectively to all 
degrees of complexity. 


x] ABSTRACTION 243 


It is to be noted that the base of an abstractive 
hierarchy may contain any number of members, finite 
or infinite. Further, the infinity of the number of 
the members of the base has nothing to do with the 
question as to whether the hierarchy be finite or 
infinite. 

A finite abstractive hierarchy will, by definition, 
possess a grade of maximum complexity. It is char- 
acteristic of this grade that a member of it is a com- 
ponent of no other eternal object belonging to any 
grade of the hierarchy. Also it is evident that this 
grade of maximum complexity must possess only one 
member; for otherwise the condition of connexity 
would not be satishfed. Conversely any complex eter- 
nal object defines a finite abstractive hierarchy to 
be discovered by a process of analysis. This com- 
plex eternal object from which we start will be called 
the ‘vertex’ of the abstractive hierarchy: it is the 
sole member of the grade of maximum complexity. 
In the first stage of the analysis we obtain the com- 
ponents of the vertex. These components may be 
of varying complexity; but there must be among 
them at least one member whose complexity is of a 
grade one lower than that of the vertex. A grade 
which is one lower than that of a given eternal object 
will be called the ‘proximate grade’ for that object. 
We take then those components of the vertex which 
belong to its proximate grade; and as the second 
stage we analyse them into their components. 
Among these components there must be some be- 
longing to the proximate grade for the objects thus 
analysed. Add to them the components of the ver- 
tex which also belong to this grade of ‘second prox- 


244 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


imation’ from the vertex; and, at the third stage 
analyse as before. We thus find objects belonging 
to the grade of third proximation from the vertex; 
and we add to them the components belonging to this 
grade, which have been left over from the preceding 
stages of the analysis. We proceed in this way 
through successive stages, till we reach the grade of 
simple objects. This grade forms the base of the 
hierarchy. 

It is to be noted that in dealing with hierarchies 
we are entirely within the realm of possibility. Ac- 
cordingly the eternal objects are devoid of real 
togetherness: they remain within their ‘isolation-’ 

The logical instrument which Aristotle used for 
the analysis of actual fact into more abstract ele 
ments was that of classification into species and 
genera. his instrument has its overwhelmingly 
important application for science in its preparatory 
stages. But its use in metaphysical description dis- 
torts the true vision of the metaphysical situation. 
The use of the term ‘universal’ is intimately con- 
nected with this Aristotelian analysis: the term has 
been broadened of late; but still it suggests that 
classificatory analysis. For this reason I have 
avoided it. 

In any actual occasion a, there will be a group g 
of simple eternal objects which are ingredient in 
that group in the most concrete mode. ‘This com- 
plete ingredience in an occasion, so as to yield the 
most complete fusion of individual essence with 
other eternal objects in the formation of the individ- 
ual emergent occasion, is evidently of its own kind 
and cannot be defined in terms of anything else. But 


x] ABSTRACTION 245 


it has a peculiar characteristic which necessarily at- 
taches to it. This characteristic is that there is an 
infinite abstractive hierarchy based upon g which is 
such that all its members are equally involved in this 
complete inclusion in a. 

The existence of such an infinite abstractive hier- 
archy is what is meant by the statement that it is 
impossible to complete the description of an actual 
occasion by means of concepts. I will call this infi- 
nite abstractive hierarchy which is associated with 
a ‘the associated hierarchy of a.’ It is also what is 
meant by the notion of the connectedness of an 
actual occasion. ‘his connectedness of an occasion 
is necessary for its synthetic unity and for its intelli- 
gibility. There is a connected hierarchy of concepts 
applicable to the occasion, including concepts of all 
degrees of complexity. Also in the actual occasion, 
the individual essences of the eternal objects involved 
in these complex concepts achieve an aesthetic syn- 
thesis, productive of the occasion as an experience 
for its own sake. ‘This associated hierarchy is the 
shape, or pattern, or form, of the occasion in so far 
as the occasion is constituted of what enters into its 
full realisation. 

Some confusion of thought has been caused by 
the fact that abstraction from possibility runs in the 
opposite direction to an abstraction from actuality, 
so far as degree of abstractness is concerned. For 
evidently in describing an actual occasion a, we are 
nearer to the total concrete fact when we describe a 
by predicating of it some member of its associated 
hierarchy, which is of a high grade of complexity. 
We have then said more about o. Thus, with a 


246 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


high grade of complexity we gain in approach to the 
full concreteness of a, and with a low grade we lose 
in this approach. Accordingly the simple eternal 
objects represent the extreme of abstraction from an 
actual occasion; whereas simple eternal objects 
represent the minimum of abstraction from the realm 
of possibility. It will, I think, be found that, when 
a high degree of abstraction is spoken of, abstrac- 
tion from the realm of possibility is what is usually 
meant—in other words, an elaborate logical con- 
struction. 

So far I have merely been considering an actual 
occasion on the side of its full concreteness. It is 
this side of the occasion in virtue of which it is an 
event in nature. But a natural event, in this sense 
of the term, is only an abstraction from a complete 
actual occasion. A complete occasion includes that 
which in cognitive experience takes the form of 
memory, anticipation, imagination, and thought. 
These elements in an experient occasion are also 
modes of inclusion of complex eternal objects in the 
synthetic prehension, as elements in the emergent 
value. They differ from the concreteness of full 
inclusion. In a sense this difference is inexplicable; 
for each mode of inclusion is of its own kind, not to 
be explained in terms of anything else. But there 
is a common difference which discriminates these 
modes of inclusion from the full concrete ingression 
which has been discussed. ‘This differentia is abrupt- 
ness. By ‘abruptness’ I mean that what is remem- 
bered, or anticipated, or imagined, or thought, is 
exhausted by a finite complex concept. In each case 
there is one finite eternal object prehended within 


x] ABSTRACTION 247 


the occasion as the vertex of a finite hierarchy. This 
breaking off from an actual illimitability is what in 
any occasion marks off that which is termed mental 
from that which belongs to the physical event to 
which the mental functioning is referred. 

In general there seems to be some loss of vividness 
in the apprehension of the eternal objects concerned: 
for example, Hume speaks of ‘faint copies.’ But 
this faintness seems to be a very unsafe ground for 
differentiation. Often things realised in thought are 
more vivid than the same things in inattentive phys- 
ical experience. But the things apprehended as men- 
tal are always subject to the condition that we come 
to a stop when we attempt to explore ever higher 
grades of complexity in their realised relationships. 
We always find that we have thought of just this— 
whatever it may be—and of no more. There is a 
limitation which breaks off the finite concept from 
the higher grades of illimitable complexity. 

Thus an actual occasion is a prehension of one 
infinite hierarchy (its associated hierarchy) together 
with various finite hierarchies. The synthesis into 
the occasion of the infinite hierarchy is according to 
its specific mode of realisation, and that of the finite 
hierarchies is according to various other specific 
modes of realisation. ‘There is one metaphysical! 
principle which is essential for the rational coherence 
of this account of the general character of an experi- 
ent occasion. I call this principle, “The Translu- 
cency of Realisation.’ By this I mean that any 
eternal object is just itself in whatever mode of 
realisation it isinvolved. There can be no distortion 
of the individual essence without thereby producing 


248 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. x] 


a different eternal object. In the essence of each 
eternal object there stands an indeterminateness 
which expresses its indifferent patience for any mode 
of ingression into any actual occasion. Thus in cog- 
nitive experience, there can be the cognition of the 
same eternal object as in the same occasion having 
ingression with implication in more than one grade 
ot realisation. ‘Thus the translucency of realisation, 
and the possible multiplicity of modes of ingression 
into the same occasion, together form the foundation 
for the correspondence theory of truth. 

In this account of an actual occasion in terms of 
its connection, with the realm of eternal objects, we 
have gone back to the train of thought in our second 
chapter, where the nature of mathematics was dis- 
cussed. The idea, ascribed to Pythagoras, has been 
amplified, and put forward as the first chapter in 
metaphysics. ‘The next chapter is concerned with 
the puzzling fact that there is an actual course of 
events which is in itself a limited fact, in that meta- 
physically speaking it might have been otherwise. 
But other metaphysical investigations are omitted; 
for example, epistemology, and the classification of 
some elements in the unfathomable wealth of the 
field of possibility. This last topic brings meta- 
physics in sight of the special topics of the various 
sciences. 


CHAPTER XI 
GOD 


ARISTOTLE found it necessary to complete his meta- 
physics by the introduction of a Prime Mover mered 
God. ‘This, for two reasons, is an important fact ~ 
in the Nerand of metaphysics. In the first place if 
we are to accord to anyone the position of the great- 
est metaphysician, having regard to genius of in- 
sight, to general equipment in knowledge, and to 
the stimulus of his metaphysical ancestry, we must 
choose Aristotle. Secondly, in his consideration of 
this metaphysical question he was entirely dispas- 
sionate; and he is the last European metaphysician 
of first-rate importance for whom this claim can be 
made. After Aristotle, ethical and religious inter- 
ests began to influence metaphysical conclusions. 
The Jews dispersed, first willingly and then forcibly, 
and the Judaic-Alexandrian school arose. Then 
Christianity, closely followed by Mahometanism, in- 
tervened. The Greek gods who surrounded Aris- 
totle were subordinate metaphysical entities, well 
within nature. Accordingly on the subject of his 
Prime Mover, he would have no motive, except to 
follow his metaphysical train of thought whitherso- 
ever itled him. It did not lead him very far towards 
the production of a God available for religious pur- 
poses. It may be doubted whether any properly 
general metaphysics can ever, without the illicit in- 
249 


250 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


troduction of other considerations, get much further 
than Aristotle. But his conclusion does represent a 
first step without which no evidence on a narrower 
experiential basis can be of much avail in shaping the 
conception. For nothing, within any limited type of 
experience, can give intelligence to shape our ideas 
of any entity at the base of all actual things, unless 
the general character of things requires that there 
be such an entity. 

The phrase, Prime Mover, warns us that Aris- 
totle’s thought was enmeshed in the details of an 
erroneous physics and an erroneous cosmology. In 
Aristotle’s physics special causes were required to 
sustain the motions of material things. These could 
easily be fitted into his system, provided that the 
general cosmic motions could be sustained. For then 
in relation to the general working system, each thing 
could be provided with its true end. Hence the 
necessity for a Prime Mover who sustains the mo- 
tions of the spheres on which depend the adjustment 
of things. To-day we repudiate the Aristotelian 
physics and the Aristotelian cosmology, so that the 
exact form of the above argument manifestly fails. 
But if our general metaphysics is in any way similar 
to that outlined in the previous chapter, an analogous 
metaphysical problem arises which can be solved only 
in an analogous fashion. In the place of Aristotle’s 
God as Prime Mover, we require God as the Prin- 
ciple of Concretion. ‘This position can be substan- 
tiated only by the discussion of the general implica- 
tion of the course of actual occasions—that is to 
say, of the process of realisation. 

We conceive actuality as in essential relation to an 


x1] GOD 251 


unfathomable possibility. Eternal objects inform ac- 
tual occasions with hierarchic patterns, included and 
excluded in every variety of discrimination. Another 
view of the same truth is that every actual occasion 
is a limitation imposed on possibility, and that by 
virtue of this limitation the particular value of that 
shaped togetherness of things emerges. In this way 
we express how a single occasion is to be viewed in 
terms of possibility, and how possibility is to be 
viewed in terms of a single actual occasion. But 
there are no single occasions, in the sense of isolated 
occasions. Actuality is through and through togeth- 
erness—togetherness of otherwise isolated eternal 
objects, and togetherness of all actual occasions. It 
is my task in this chapter to describe the unity of 
actual occasions. The previous chapter centered its 
interest in the abstract: the present chapter deals 
with the concrete, 7.e., that which has grown to- 
gether. 

Consider an occasion «:—we have to enumerate 
how other actual occasions are in a, in the sense that 
their relationships with « are constitutive of the es- 
sence of a. What a is in itself, is that it is a unit 
of realised experience; accordingly we ask how other 
occasions are in the experience which is a. Also for 
the present I am excluding cognitive experience. The 
complete answer to this question is, that the rela- 
tionships among actual occasions are as unfathom- 
able in their variety of type as are those among 
eternal objects in the realm of abstraction. But 
there are fundamental types of such relationships 
in terms of which the whole complex variety can 
find its description. 


252 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD CH. 


A preliminary for the understanding of these 
types of entry (of one occasion into the essence of 
another) is to note that they are involved in the 
modes of realisation of abstractive hierarchies, dis- 
cussed in the previous chapter. The spatio-temporal 
relationships, involved in those hierarchies as real- 
ised in a, have all a definition in terms of a and of 
the occasions entrant in a. ‘hus the entrant occa- 
sions lend their aspects to the hierarchies, and 
thereby convert spatio-temporal modalities into cate- 
gorical determinations; and the hierarchies lend 
their forms to the occasions and thereby limit the 
entrant occasions to being entrant only under those 
forms. Thus in the same way (as seen in the previ- 
ous chapter) that every occasion is a synthesis of 
all eternal objects under the limitation of gradations 
of actuality, so every occasion is a synthesis of all 
occasions under the limitation of gradations of types 
of entry. Each occasion synthesises the totality of 
content under its own limitations of mode. 

In respect to these types of internal relationship 
between « and other occasions, these other occasions 
(as constitutive of a) can be classified in many alter- 
native ways. ‘hese are all concerned with different 
definitions of past, present, and future. It has been 
usual in philosophy to assume that these various defi- 
nitions must necessarily be equivalent. The present 
state of opinion in physical science conclusively 
shows that this assumption is without metaphysical 
justification, even although any such discrimination 
may be found to be unnecessary for physical science. 
This question has already been dealt with in the 


xr] GOD 253 


chapter on Relativity. But the physical theory of 
relativity touches only the fringe of the various the- 
ories which are metaphysically tenable. It is im- 
portant for my argument to insist upon the un- 
bounded freedom within which the actual is a unique 
categorical determination. 

Every actual occasion exhibits itself as a process: 
it is a becomingness. In so disclosing itself, it places 
itself as one among a multiplicity of other occasions, 
without which it could not be itself. It also defines 
itself as a particular individual achievement, focus- 
sing in its limited way an unbounded realm of eternal 
objects. 

Any one occasion «@ issues from other occasions 
which collectively form its past. It displays for it- 
self other occasions which collectively form its pres- 
ent. It is in respect to its associated hierarchy, as 
displayed in this immediate present, that an occa- 
sion finds its own originality. It is that display 
which is its own contribution to the output of actu- 
ality. It may be conditioned, and even completely 
determined by the past from which it issues. But 
its display in the present under those conditions is 
what directly emerges from its prehensive activity. 
The occasion « also holds within itself an indetermi- 
nation in the form of a future, which has partial 
determination by reason of its inclusion in « and 
also has determinate spatio-temporal relatedness to 
a and to actual occasions of the past from « and of 
the present for a. 

This future is a synthesis in « of eternal objects as 
not-being and as requiring the passage from a to 


254 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


other individualisations (with determinate spatio- 
temporal relations to a) in which not-being becomes 
being. 

There is also in « what, in the previous chapter, I 
have termed the ‘abrupt’ realisation of finite eternal 
objects. This abrupt realisation requires either a 
reference of the basic objects of the finite hierarchy 
to determinate occasions other than a (as their situa- 
tions, in past, present, future) ; or requires a realisa- 
tion of these eternal objects in determinate relation- 
ships, but under the aspect of exemption from inclu- 
sion in the spatio-temporal scheme of relatedness 
between actual occasions. This abrupt synthesis of 
eternal objects in each occasion is the inclusion in 
actuality of the analytical character of the realm of 
eternality. This inclusion has those limited grada- 
tions of actuality which characterise every occasion 
by reason of its essential limitation. It is this real- 
ised extension of eternal relatedness beyond the mu- 
tual relatedness of the actual occasions, which pre- 
hends into each occasion the full sweep of eternal 
relatedness. I term this abrupt realisation the 
‘graded envisagement’ which each occasion prehends 
into its synthesis. This graded envisagement is how 
the actual includes what (in one sense) is not-being 
as a positive factor in its own achievement. It is the 
source of error, of truth, of art, of ethics, and of 
religion. By it, fact is confronted with alternatives. 

This general concept, of an event as a process 
whose outcome is a unit of experience, points to the 
analysis of an event into (i) substantial activity, 
(11) conditioned potentialities which are there for 
synthesis, and (iii) the achieved outcome of the syn- 


x1] GOD 255 


thesis. The unity of all actual occasions forbids the 
analysis of substantial activities into independent en- 
tities. Each individual activity is nothing but the 
mode in which the general activity is individualised 
by the imposed conditions. The envisagement which 
enters into the synthesis is also a character which 
conditions the synthesising activity. The general 
activity is not an entity in the sense in which occa- 
sions or eternal objects are entities. It is a general 
metaphysical character which underlies all occasions, 
in a particular mode for each occasion. There is 
nothing with which to compare it: it is Spinoza’s one 
infinite substance. Its attributes are its character of 
individualisation into a multiplicity of modes, and 
the realm of eternal objects which are variously syn- 
thesised in these modes. Thus eternal possibility 
and modal differentiation into individual multiplicity 
are the attributes of the one substance. In fact each 
general element of the metaphysical situation is an 
attribute of the substantial activity. 

Yet another element in the metaphysical situation 
is disclosed by the consideration that the general 
attribute of modality is limited. ‘This element must 
rank as an attribute of the substantial activity. In 
its nature each mode is limited, so as not to be other 
modes. But, beyond these limitations of particulars, 
the general modal individualisation is limited in two 
ways: In the first place it is an actual course of 
events, which might be otherwise so far as concerns 
eternal possibility, but 7s that course. ‘This limita- 
tion takes three forms, (i) the special logical rela- 
tions which all events must conform to, (ii) the selec- 
tion of relationships to which the events do conform, 


256 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


and (iii) the particularity which infects the course 
even within those general relationships of logic and 
causation. ‘Thus this first limitation is a limitation 
of antecedent selection. So far as the general meta- 
physical situation is concerned, there might have 
been an indiscriminate modal pluralism apart from 
logical or other limitation. But there could not then 
have been these modes, for each mode represents a 
synthesis of actualities which are limited to conform 
to astandard. We here come to the second way of 
limitation. Restriction is the price of value. There 
cannot be value without antecedent standards of 
value, to discriminate the acceptance or rejection of 
what is before the envisaging mode of activity. Thus 
there is an antecedent limitation among values, in- 
troducing contraries, grades, and oppositions. 

According to this argument the fact that there is a 
process of actual occasions, and the fact that the 
eccasions are the emergence of values which require 
such limitation, both require that the course of 
events should have developed amid an antecedent 
limitation composed of conditions, particularisation, 
and standards of value. 

Thus as a further element in the metaphysical situ- 
ation, there is required a principle of limitation. 
Some particular how is necessary, and some par- 
ticularisation in the what of matter of fact is neces- 
sary. he only alternative to this admission, is to 
deny the reality of actual occasions. Their apparent 
irrational limitation must be taken as a proof of illu- 
sion and we must look for reality behind the scene. 
If we reject this alternative behind the scene, we 


must provide a ground for limitation which stands 


x1] GOD 257 


among the attributes of the substantial activity. 
This attribute provides the limitation for which no 
reason can be given: for all reason flows from it. 
God is the ultimate limitation, and His existence is 
the ultimate irrationality. For no reason can be 
given for just that limitation which it stands in His 
nature to impose. God is not concrete, but He is 
the ground for concrete actuality. No reason can 
be given for the nature of God, because that nature 
is the ground of rationality. 

In this argument the point to notice is, that what 
is metaphysically indeterminate has nevertheless to 
be categorically determinate. We have come to the 
limit of rationality. For there is a categorical limi- 
tation which does not spring from any metaphysical 
reason. There is a metaphysical need for a principle 
of determination, but there can be no metaphysical 
reason for what is determined. If there were sucha 
reason, there would be no need for any further prin- 
ciple: for metaphysics would already have provided 
the determination. The general principle of empiri- 
cism depends upon the doctrine that there is a prin- 
ciple of concretion which is not discoverable by 
abstract reason. What further can be known about 
God must be sought in the region of particular ex- 
periences, and therefore rests on an empirical basis. 
In respect to the interpretation of these experiences, 
mankind have differed profoundly. He has been 
named respectively, Jehovah, Allah, Brahma, Father 
in Heaven, Order of Heaven, First Cause, Supreme 
Being, Chance. Each name corresponds to a system 
of thought derived from the experiences of those 
who have used it. 


258 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD _{cu. x1] 


Among medieval and modern philosophers, anx- 
ious to establish the religious significance of God, an 
unfortunate habit has prevailed of paying to Him 
metaphysical compliments. He has been conceived 
as the foundation of the metaphysical situation with 
its ultimate activity. If this conception be adhered 
to, there can be no alternative except to discern in 
Him the origin of all evil as well as of all good. 
He is then the supreme author of the play, and to 
Him must therefore be ascribed its shortcomings as 
well as its success. If He be conceived as the su- 
preme ground for limitation, it stands in His very 
nature to divide the Good from the Evil, and to 
establish Reason ‘within her dominions supreme.’ 


CHAPTER XII 
RELIGION AND SCIENCE 


Tue difficulty in approaching the question of the 
relations between Religion and Science is, that its 
elucidation requires that we have in our minds some 
clear idea of what we mean by either of the terms, 
‘religion’ and ‘science.’ Also I wish to speak in the 
most general way possible, and to keep in the back- 
ground any comparison of particular creeds, scien- 
tific or religious. We have got to understand the 
type of connection which exists between the two 
spheres, and then to draw some definite conclusions 
respecting the existing situation which at present 
confronts the world. 

The conflict between religion and science is what 
naturally occurs to our minds when we think of this 
subject. It seems as though, during the last half- 
century, the results of science and the beliefs of 
religion had come into a position of frank disagree- 
ment, from which there can be no escape, except by 
abandoning either the clear teaching of science, or 
the clear teaching of religion. This conclusion has 
been urged by controversialists on either side. Not 
by all controversialists, of course, but by those tren- 
chant intellects which every controversy calls out 
into the open. 

The distress of sensitive minds, and the zeal for 

259 


260 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


truth, and the sense of the importance of the issues, 
must command our sincerest sympathy. When we 
consider what religion is for mankind, and what sci- 
ence is, it is no exaggeration to say that the future - 
course of history depends upon the decision of this 
generation as to the relations between them. We 
have here the two strongest general forces (apart 
from the mere impulse of the various senses) which 
influence men, and they seem to be set one against 
the other—the force of our religious intuitions, and 
the force of our impulse to accurate observation 
and logical deduction. 

A great English statesman once advised his coun- 
trymen to use large-scale maps, as a preservative 
against alarms, panics, and general misunderstand- 
ing of the true relations between nations. In the 
same way in dealing with the clash between perma- 
nent elements of human nature, it is well to map our 
history on a large scale, and to disengage ourselves 
from our immediate absorption in the present con- 
flicts. When we do this, we immediately discover 
two great facts. In the first place, there has always 
been a conflict between religion and science; and in 
the second place, both religion and science have 
always been in a state of continual development, 
In the early days of Christianity, there was a gen- 
eral belief among Christians that the world was 
coming to an end in the lifetime of people then liv- 
ing. We can make only indirect inferences as to 
how far this belief was authoritatively proclaimed; 
but it is certain that it was widely held, and that it 
formed an impressive part of the popular religious 
doctrine. The belief proved itself to be mistaken, 


xu] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 261 


and Christian doctrine adjusted itself to the change. 
Again in the early Church individual theologians 
very confidently deduced from the Bible opinions 
concerning the nature of the physical universe. In 
the year A. D. 535, a monk named Cosmas * wrote 
a book which he entitled, Christian Topography. 
He was a travelled man who had visited India and 
Ethiopia; and finally he lived in a monastery at 
Alexandria, which was then a great centre of culture. 
In this book, basing himself upon the direct meaning 
of Biblical texts as construed by him in a literal fash- 
ion, he denied the existence of the antipodes, and 
asserted that the world is a flat parallelogram whose 
length is double its breadth. 

In the seventeenth century the doctrine of the 
motion of the earth was condemned by a Catholic 
tribunal. A hundred years ago the extension of time 
demanded by geological science distressed religious 
people, Protestant and Catholic. And to-day the 
doctrine of evolution is an equal stumbling-block. 
These are only a few instances illustrating a general 
fact. 

But all our ideas will be in a wrong perspective if 
we think that this recurring perplexity was confined 
to contradictions between religion and science; and 
that in these controversies religion was always 
wrong, and that science was always right. The true 
facts of the case are very much more complex, and 
refuse to be summarised in these simple terms. 

Theology itself exhibits exactly the same character 
of gradual development, arising from an aspect of 


1 Cf. Lecky’s The Rise and Influence of Rationalism in Europe, 
Ch. III. 


262 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


conflict between its own proper ideas. This fact is 
a commonplace to theologians, but is often obscured 
in the stress of controversy. I do not wish to over- 
state my case; so I will confine myself to Roman 
Catholic writers. In the seventeenth century a 
learned Jesuit, Father Petavius, showed that the 
theologians of the first three centuries of Christian- 
ity made use of phrases and statements which since 
the fifth century would be condemned as heretical. 
Also Cardinal Newman devoted a treatise to the dis- 
cussion of the development of doctrine. He wrote 
it before he became a great Roman Catholic ecclesi- 
astic; but throughout his life, it was never retracted 
and continually reissued. 

Science is even more changeable than theology. 
No man of science could subscribe without qualifica- 
tion to Galileo’s beliefs, or to Newton’s beliefs, or 
to all his own scientific beliefs of ten years ago. 

In both regions of thought, additions, distinctions, 
and modifications have been introduced. So that 
now, even when the same assertion is made to-day as 
was made a thousand, or fifteen hundred years ago, 
it is made subject to limitations or expansions of 
meaning, which were not contemplated at the earlier 
epoch. We are told by logicians that a proposition 
must be either true or false, and that there is no 
middle term. But in practice, we may know that a 
proposition expresses an important truth, but that 
it is subject to limitations and qualifications which at 
present remain undiscovered. It is a general feature 
of our knowledge, that we are insistently aware of 
important truths; and yet that the only formulations 
of these truths which we are able to make presup- 


xu] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 263 


pose a general standpoint of conceptions which may 
have to be modified. I will give you two illustra- 
tions, both from science: Galileo said that the earth 
moves and that the sun is fixed; the Inquisition said 
that the earth is fixed and the sun moves; and New- 
tonian astronomers, adopting an absolute theory of 
space, said that both the sun and the earth move. 
But now we say that any one of these three state- 
ments is equally true, provided that you have fixed 
your sense of ‘rest’ and ‘motion’ in the way required 
by the statement adopted. At the date of Galileo’s 
controversy with the Inquisition, Galileo’s way of 
stating the facts was, beyond question, the fruitful 
procedure for the sake of scientific research. But in 
itself it was not more true than the formulation of 
the Inquisition. But at that time the modern con- 
cepts of relative motion were in nobody’s mind; so 
that the statements were made in ignorance of the 
qualifications required for their more perfect truth. 
Yet this question of the motions of the earth and the 
sun expresses a real fact in the universe; and all sides 
had got hold of important truths concerning it. But 
with the knowledge of those times, the truths 
appeared to be inconsistent. 

Again I will give you another example taken from 
the state of modern physical science. Since the time 
of Newton and Huyghens in the seventeenth century 
there have been two theories as to the physical 
nature of light. Newton’s theory was that a beam 
of light consists of a stream of very minute particles, 
or corpuscles, and that we have the sensation of light 
when these corpuscles strike the retinas of our eyes. 
Huyghens’ theory was that light consists of very 


264 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [Ch. 


minute waves of trembling in an all-pervading ether. 
and that these waves are travelling along a beam of 
light. ‘The two theories are contradictory. In the 
eighteenth century Newton’s theory was believed, in 
the nineteenth century Huyghens’ theory was be- 
lieved. To-day there is one large group of phenom- 
ena which can be explained only on the wave theory, 
and another large group which can be explained only 
on the corpuscular theory. Scientists have to leave it 
at that, and wait for the future, in the hope of attain- 
ing some wider vision which reconciles both. 

We should apply these same principles to the ques- 
tions in which there is a variance between science 
and religion. We would believe nothing in either 
sphere of thought which does not appear to us to 
be certified by solid reasons based upon the critical 
research either of ourselves or of competent author- 
ities. But granting that we have honestly taken this 
precaution, a clash between the two on points of 
detail where they overlap should not lead us hastily 
to abandon doctrines for which we have solid evi- 
dence. It may be that we are more interested in 
one set of doctrines than in the other. But, if we 
have any sense of perspective and of the history 
of thought, we shall wait and refrain from mutual 
anathemas. 

We should wait: but we should not wait passively, 
or in despair. ‘The clash is a sign that there are 
wider truths and finer perspectives within which a 
reconciliation of a deeper religion and a more subtle 
science will be found. 

In one sense, therefore, the conflict between 
science and religion is a slight matter which has been 


x11] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 265 


unduly emphasised. A mere logical contradiction 
cannot in itself point to more than the necessity of 
some readjustments, possibly of a very minor char- 
acter on both sides. Remember the widely different 
aspects of events which are dealt with in science 
and in religion respectively. Science is concerned 
with the general conditions which are observed to 
regulate physical phenomena; whereas religion is 
wholly wrapped up in the contemplation of moral 
and aesthetic values. On the one side there is the 
law of gravitation, and on the other the contempla- 
tion of the beauty of holiness. What one side sees, 
the other misses; and vice versa. 

Consider, for example, the lives of John Wesley 
and of Saint Francis of Assisi. For physical science 
you have in these lives merely ordinary examples of 
the operation of the principles of physiological chem- 
istry, and of the dynamics of nervous reactions: for 
religion you have lives of the most profound sig- 
nificance in the history of the world. Can you be 
surprised that, in the absence of a perfect and com- 
plete phrasing of the principles of science and of 
the principles of religion which apply to these spe- 
cific cases, the accounts of these lives from these 
divergent standpoints should involve discrepancies ? 
It would be a miracle if it were not so. 

It would, however, be missing the point to think 
that we need not trouble ourselves about the conflict 
between science and religion. In an intellectual age 
there can be no active interest which puts aside all 
hope of a vision of the harmony of truth. To acqui- 
esce in discrepancy is destructive of candour, and of 
moral cleanliness. It belongs to the self-respect of 


266 -§CIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [ou 


intellect to pursue every tangle of thought to its final 
unravelment. If you check that impulse, you will 
get no religion and no science from an awakened 
thoughtfulness. The important question is, In what 
spirit are we going to face the issue? There we 
come to something absolutely vital. 

A clash of doctrines is not a disaster—it is an 
opportunity. I will explain my meaning by some 
illustrations from science. The weight of an atom 
of nitrogen was well known. Also it was an estab- 
lished scientific doctrine that the average weight of 
such atoms in any considerable mass will be always 
the same. ‘Iwo experimenters, the late Lord Ray- 
leigh and the late Sir William Ramsay, found that 
if they obtained nitrogen by two different methods, 
each equally effective for that purpose, they always 
observed a persistent slight difference between the 
average weights of the atoms in the two cases. Now 
I ask you, would it have been rational of these men 
to have despaired because of this conflict between 
chemical theory and scientific observation? Sup- 
pose that for some reason the chemical doctrine had 
been highly prized throughout some district as the 
foundation of its social order :—would it have been 
wise, would it have been candid, would it have been 
moral, to forbid the disclosure of the fact that the 
experiments produced discordant results? Or, on 
the other hand, should Sir William Ramsay and 
Lord Rayleigh have proclaimed that chemical theory 
was now a detected delusion? We see at once that 
either of these ways would have been a method of 
facing the issue in an entirely wrong spirit. What 
Rayleigh and Ramsay did was this: They at once 


xi] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 267 


perceived that they had hit upon a line of investiga- 
tion which would disclose some subtlety of chemical 
theory that had hitherto eluded observation. The 
discrepancy was not a disaster: it was an opportu- 
nity to increase the sweep of chemical knowledge. 
You all know the end of the story: finally argon was 
discovered, a new chemical element which had lurked 
undetected, mixed with the nitrogen. But the story 
has a sequel which forms my second illustration. 
This discovery drew attention to the importance of 
observing accurately minute differences in chemical 
substances as obtained by different methods. Further 
researches of the most careful accuracy were under- 
taken. Finally another physicist, F. W. Aston, 
working in the Cavendish Laboratory at Cambridge 
in England, discovered that even the same element 
might assume two or more distinct forms, termed 
isotopes, and that the law of the constancy of aver- 
age atomic weight holds for each of these forms, 
but as between the different isotopes differs slightly. 
The research has effected a great stride in the power 
of chemical theory, far transcending in importance 
the discovery of argon from which it originated. 
The moral of these stories lies on the surface, and I 
will leave to you their application to the case of 
religion and science. 

In formal logic, a contradiction is the signal of a 
defeat: but in the evolution of real knowledge it 
marks the first step in progress towards a victory. 
This is one great reason for the utmost toleration of 
variety of opinion. Once and forever, this duty of 
toleration has been summed up in the words, ‘Let 
both grow together until the harvest.’ The failure 


268 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cu. 


of Christians to act up to this precept, of the highest 
authority, is one of the curiosities of religious his- 
tory. But we have not yet exhausted the discussion 
of the moral temper required for the pursuit of 
truth. There are short cuts leading merely to an 
illusory success. It is easy enough to find a theory, 
logically harmonious and with important applica- 
tions in the region of fact, provided that you are 
content to disregard half your evidence. Every 
age produces people with clear logical intellects, and 
with the most praiseworthy grasp of the importance 
of some sphere of human experience, who have 
elaborated, or inherited, a scheme of thought which 
exactly fits those experiences which claim their inter- 
est. Such people are apt resolutely to ignore, or to 
explain away, all evidence which confuses their 
scheme with contradictory instances. What they 
cannot fit in is for them nonsense. An unflinching 
determination to take the whole evidence into ac- 
count is the only method of preservation against the 
fluctuating extremes of fashionable opinion. This 
advice seems so easy, and is in fact so dificult to 
follow. 

One reason for this difficulty is that we cannot 
think first and act afterwards. From the moment of 
birth we are immersed in action, and can only fit- 
fully guide it by taking thought. We have, there- 
fore, in various spheres of experience to adopt those 
ideas which seem to work within those spheres. It 
is absolutely necessary to trust to ideas which are 
generally adequate, even though we know that there 
are subtleties and distinctions beyond our ken. Also 
apart from the necessities of action, we cannot even 


xu] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 269 


keep before our minds the whole evidence except 
under the guise of doctrines which are incompletely 
harmonised. We cannot think in terms of an in- 
definite multiplicity of detail; our evidence can 
acquire its proper importance only if it comes before 
us marshalled by general ideas. ‘These ideas we 
inherit—they form the tradition of our civilisation. 
Such traditional ideas are never static. They are 
either fading into meaningless formulae, or are gain- 
ing power by the new lights thrown by a more deli- 
cate apprehension. They are transformed by the 
urge of critical reason, by the vivid evidence of emo- 
tional experience, and by the cold certainties of 
scientific perception. One fact is certain, you can- 
not keep them still. No generation can merely 
reproduce its ancestors. You may preserve the life 
in a flux of form, or preserve the form amid an ebb 
of life. But you cannot permanently enclose the 
same life in the same mould. 

The present state of religion among the European 
races illustrates the statements which I have been 
making. ‘he phenomena are mixed. There have 
been reactions and revivals. But on the whole, dur- 
ing many generations, there has been a gradual 
decay of religious influence in European civilisation. 
Each revival touches a lower peak than its predeces- 
sor, and each period of slackness a lower depth. 
The average curve marks a steady fall in religious 
tone. In some countries the interest in religion is 
higher than in others. But in those countries where 
the interest is relatively high, it still falls as the 
generations pass. Religion is tending to degenerate 
into a decent formula wherewith to embellish a 


270 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLE [ca 


comfortable life. A great historical movement on 
this scale results from the convergence of many 
causes. I wish to suggest two of them which lie 
within the scope of this chapter for consideration. 

In the first place for over two centuries religion 
has been on the defensive, and on a weak defensive. 
The period has been one of unprecedented intellec- 
tual progress. In this way a series of novel situa- 
tions have been produced for thought. Each such 
occasion has found the religious thinkers unprepared. 
Something, which has been proclaimed to be vital, 
has finally, after struggle, distress, and anathema, 
been modified and otherwise interpreted. The next 
generation of religious apologists then congratulates 
the religious world on the deeper insight which has 
been gained. The result of the continued repetition 
of this undignified retreat, during many generations, 
has at last almost entirely destroyed the intellectual 
authority of religious thinkers. Consider this con- 
trast: when Darwin or Einstein proclaim theories 
which modify our ideas, it is a triumph for science. 
We do not go about saying that there is another 
defeat for science, because its old ideas have been 
abandoned. We know that another step of scientific 
insight has been gained. 

Religion will not regain its old power until it can 
face change in the same spirit as does science. Its 
principles may be eternal, but the expression of those 
principles requires continual development. This 
evolution of religion is in the main a disengagement 
of its own proper ideas from the adventitious notions 
which have crept into it by reason of the expression 
of its own ideas in terms of the imaginative picture 


xu] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 271 


of the world entertained in previous ages. Such a 
release of religion from the bonds of imperfect 
science is all to the good. It stresses its own genuine 
message. The great point to be kept in mind is that 
normally an advance in science will show that state- 
ments of various religious beliefs require some sort 
of modification. It may be that they have to be 
expanded or explained, or indeed entirely restated. 
If the religion is a sound expression of truth, this 
modification will only exhibit more adequately the 
exact point which is of importance. This process is 
again. Inso far, therefore, as any religion has any 
contact with physical facts, it is to be expected that 
the point of view of those facts must be continually 
modified as scientific knowledge advances. In this 
way, the exact relevance of these facts for religious 
thought will grow more and more clear. The prog- 
ress of science must result in the unceasing codifica- 
tion of religious thought, to the great advantage 
of religion. 

The religious controversies of the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries put theologians into a most 
unfortunate state of mind. They were always at- 
tacking and defending. They pictured themselves as 
the garrison of a fort surrounded by hostile forces. 
All such pictures express half-truths. That is why 
they are so popular. But they are dangerous. This 
particular picture fostered a pugnacious party spirit 
which really expresses an ultimate lack of faith. 
They dared not modify, because they shirked the 
task of disengaging their spiritual message from the 
associations of a particular imagery. 

Let me explain myself by an example. In the 


272 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


early medieval times, Heaven was in the sky, and 
Hell was underground; volcanoes were the jaws of 
Hell. I do not assert that these beliefs entered into 
the official formulations: but they did enter into the 
popular understanding of the general doctrines of 
Heaven and Hell. These notions were what every- 
one thought to be implied by the doctrine of the 
future state. They entered into the explanations 
of the influential exponents of Christian belief. For 
example, they occur in the Dialogues of Pope 
Gregory, the Great, a man whose high official posi- 
tion is surpassed only by the magnitude of his sery- 
ices to humanity. I am not saying what we ought 
to believe about the future state. But whatever be 
the right doctrine, in this instance the clash between 
religion and science, which has relegated the earth to 
the position of a second-rate planet attached to a 
second-rate sun, has been greatly to the benefit of 
the spirituality of religion by dispersing these 
medieval fancies. 

Another way of looking at this question of the 
evolution of religious thought is to note that any 
verbal form of statement which has been before the 
world for some time discloses ambiguities; and that 
often such ambiguities strike at the very heart of 
the meaning. The effective sense in which a doctrine 
has been held in the past cannot be determined by 
the mere logical analysis of verbal statements, made 
in ignorance of the logical trap. You have to take 
into account the whole reaction of human nature to 
the scheme of thought. This reaction is of a mixed 


* Cf. Gregorovius’ History of Rome in the Middle Ages, Book 
III, Ch. III, Vol. II, English Trans. 


x1] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 273 


character, including elements of emotion derived 
from our lower natures. It is here that the imper- 
sonal criticism of science and of philosophy comes to 
the aid of religious evolution. Example after ex- 
ample can be given of this motive force in develop- 
ment. For example, the logical difficulties inherent 
in the doctrine of the moral cleansing of human 
nature by the power of religion rent Christianity in 
the days of Pelagius and Augustine—that is to say, 
at the beginning of the fifth century. Echoes of 
that controversy still linger in theology. 

So far, my point has been this: that religion is the 
expression of one type of fundamental experiences 
of mankind: that religious thought develops into 
an increasing accuracy of expression, disengaged 
from adventitious imagery: that the interaction 
between religion and science is one great factor in 
promoting this development. 

I now come to my second reason for the modern 
fading of interest in religion. ‘This involves the 
ultimate question which I stated in my opening sen- 
tences. We have to know what we mean by religion. 
The churches, in their presentation of their answers 
to this query, have put forward aspects of religion 
which are expressed in terms either suited to the 
emotional reactions of bygone times or directed to 
excite modern emotional interests of nonreligious 
character. What I mean under the first heading is 
that religious appeal is directed partly to excite that 
instinctive fear of the wrath of a tyrant which was 
inbred in the unhappy populations of the arbitrary 
empires of the ancient world, and in particular to 
excite that fear of an all-powerful arbitrary tyrant 


274 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


behind the unknown forces of nature. This appeal 
to the ready instinct of brute fear is losing its force. 
It lacks any directness of response, because modern 
science and modern conditions of life have taught 
us to meet occasions of apprehension by a critical 
analysis of their causes and conditions. Religion is 
the reaction of human nature to its search for God. 
The presentation of God under the aspect of power 
awakens every modern instinct of critical reaction. 
This is fatal; for religion collapses unless its main 
positions command immediacy of assent. In this 
respect the old phraseology is at variance with the 
psychology of modern civilisations. This change in 
psychology is largely due to science, and is one of 
the chief ways in which the advance of science has 
weakened the hold of the old religious forms of 
expression. The non-religious motive which has 
entered into modern religious thought is the desire 
for a comfortable organisation of modern society. 
Religion has been presented as valuable for the 
ordering of life. Its claims have been rested upon 
its function as a sanction to right conduct. Also the 
purpose of right conduct quickly degenerates into 
the formation of pleasing social relations. We have 
here a subtle degradation of religious ideas, follow- 
ing upon their gradual purification under the influ- 
ence of keener ethical intuitions. Conduct is a 
by-product of religion—an inevitable by-product, 
but not the main point. Every great religious 
teacher has revolted against the presentation of 
religion as a mere sanction of rules of conduct. Saint 
Paul denounced the Law, and Puritan divines spoke 
of the filthy rags of righteousness. The insistence 


xu] RELIGION AND SCIENCE 275 


upon rules of conduct marks the ebb of religious 
fervour. Above and beyond ail things, the religious 
life is not a research after comfort. I must now 
state, in all difidence, what I conceive to be the 
essential character of the religious spirit. 

Religion is the vision of something which stands 
beyond, behind, and within, the passing flux of imme- 
diate things; something which is real, and yet wait- 
ing to be realised; something which is a remote 
possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts; 
something that gives meaning to all that passes, and 
yet eludes apprehension; something whose posses- 
sion is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach; 
something which is the ultimate ideal, and the hope- 
less quest. 

The immediate reaction of human nature to the 
religious vision is worship. Religion has emerged 
into human experience mixed with the crudest fan- 
cies of barbaric imagination. Gradually, slowly, 
steadily the vision recurs in history under nobler 
form and with clearer expression. It is the one 
element in human experience which persistently 
shows an upward trend. It fades and then recurs. 
But when it renews its force, it recurs with an added 
richness and purity of content. The fact of the 
religious vision, and its history of persistent expan- 
sion, is our one ground for optimism. Apart from 
it, human life is a flash of occasional enjoyments 
lighting up a mass of pain and misery, a bagatelle 
of transient experience. 

The vision claims nothing but worship; and wor- 
ship is a surrender to the claim for assimilation, 
urged with the motive force of mutual love. The 


276 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD | [cz. xu] 


vision never overrules. It is always there, and it 
has the power of love presenting the one purpose 
whose fulfilment is eternal harmony. Such order 
as we find in nature is never force—it presents itself 
as the one harmonious adjustment of complex detail. 
Evil is the brute motive force of fragmentary pur- 
pose, disregarding the eternal vision. Evil is over- 
ruling, retarding, hurting. The power of God is 
the worship He inspires. ‘That religion is strong 
which in its ritual and its modes of thought evokes 
an apprehension of the commanding vision. The 
worship of God is not a rule of safety—it is an 
adventure of the spirit, a flight after the unattain- 
able. The death of religion comes with the repres- 
sion of the high hope of adventure. 


CHAPTER XIII 
REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 


IT has been the purpose of these lectures to analyse 
the reactions of science in forming that background 
of instinctive ideas which control the activities of 
successive generations. Such a background takes 
the form of a certain vague philosophy as to the last 
word about things, when all is said. The three cen- 
turies, which form the epoch of modern science, 
have revolved round the ideas of God, mind, mat- 
ter, and also of space and time in their characters of 
expressing simple location for matter. Philosophy 
has on the whole emphasised mind, and has thus 
been out of touch with science during the two latter 
centuries. But it is creeping back into its old impor- 
tance owing to the rise of psychology and its alliance 
with physiology. Also, this rehabilitation of philos- 
ophy has been facilitated by the recent breakdown 
of the seventeenth century settlement of the prin- 
ciples of physical science. But, until that collapse, 
science seated itself securely upon the concepts of 
matter, space, time, and latterly, of energy. Also 
there were arbitrary laws of nature determining 
locomotion. ‘They were empirically observed, but 
for some obscure reason were known to be universal. 
Anyone who in practice or theory disregarded them 
was denounced with unsparing vigour. ‘This posi- 
277 


278 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH 


tion on the part of scientists was pure bluff, if one 
may credit them with believing their own statements. 
For their current philosophy completely failed to 
justify the assumption that the immediate knowledge 
inherent in any present occasion throws any light 
either on its past, or its future. 

I have also sketched an alternative philosophy of 
science in which organism takes the place of matter. 
For this purpose, the mind involved in the material- 
ist theory dissolves into a function of organism. 
The psychological field then exhibits what an event 
is in itself. Our bodily event is an unusually com- 
plex type of organism and consequently includes 
cognition. Further, space and time, in their most 
concrete signification, become the locus of events. 
An organism is the realisation of a definite shape 
of value. The emergence of some actual value 
depends on limitation which excludes neutralising 
cross-lights. hus an event is a matter of fact which 
by reason of its limitation is a value for itself; but 
by reason of its very nature it also requires the whole 
universe in order to be itself. 

Importance depends on endurance. Endurance is 
the retention through time of an achievement of 
value. What endures is identity of pattern, self- 
inherited. Endurance requires the favourable en- 
vironment. ‘The whole of science revolves round 
this question of enduring organisms. 

The general influence of science at the present 
moment can be analysed under the headings: General 
Conceptions Respecting the Universe, Technologi- 
cal Applications, Professionalism in Knowledge, 
Influence of Biological Doctrines on the Motives of 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 279 


Conduct. I have endeavoured in the preceding lec- 
tures to give a glimpse of these points. It lies within 
the scope of this concluding lecture to consider the 
reaction of science upon some problems confronting 
civilised societies. 

The general conceptions introduced by science 
into modern thought cannot be separated from the 
philosophical situation as expressed by Descartes. 
I mean the assumption of bodies and minds as inde- 
pendent individual substances, each existing in its 
own right apart from any necessary reference to 
each other. Such a conception was very concordant 
with the individualism which had issued from the 
moral discipline of the Middle Ages. But, though 
the easy reception of the idea is thus explained, the 
derivation in itself rests upon a confusion, very nat- 
ural but none the less unfortunate. The moral 
discipline had emphasised the intrinsic value of the 
individual entity. This emphasis had put the notions 
of the individual and of its experiences into the 
foreground of thought. At this point the confusion 
commences. The emergent individual value of each 
entity is transformed into the independent substan- 
tial existence of each entity, which is a very different 
notion. 

I do not mean to say that Descartes made this 
logical, or rather illogical transition, in the form of 
explicit reasoning. Far from it. What he did, was 
first to concentrate upon his own conscious experi- 
ences, as being facts within the independent world 
of his own mentality. He was led to speculate in 
this way by the current emphasis upon the individual 
value of his total self. He implicitly transformed 


280 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


this emergent individual value, inherent in the very 
fact of his own reality, into a private world of pas- 
sions, or modes, of independent substance. 

Also the independence ascribed to bodily sub- 
stances carried them away from the realm of values 
altogether. ‘They degenerated into a mechanism 
entirely valueless, except as suggestive of an external 
ingenuity. The heavens had lost the glory of God. 
This state of mind is illustrated in the recoil of 
Protestantism from aesthetic effects dependent upon 
a material medium. It was taken to lead to an 
ascription of value to what is in itself valueless. 
This recoil was already in full strength antecedently 
to Descartes. Accordingly, the Cartesian scientific 
doctrine of bits of matter, bare of intrinsic value, 
was merely a formulation, in explicit terms, of a 
doctrine which was current before its entrance into 
scientific thought or Cartesian philosophy. Prob- 
ably this doctrine was latent in the scholastic phi- 
losophy, but it did not lead to its consequences till 
it met with the mentality of northern Europe in the 
sixteenth century. But science, as equipped by Des- 
cartes, gave stability and intellectual status to a point 
of view which has had very mixed effects upon the 
moral presuppositions of modern communities. Its 
good effects arose from its efficiency as a method for 
scientific researches within those limited regions 
which were then best suited for exploration. The 
result was a general clearing of the European mind 
away from the stains left upon it by the hysteria of 
remote barbaric ages. This was all to the good, 
and was most completely exemplified in the eight- 
eenth century. 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 281 


But in the nineteenth century, when society was 
undergoing transformation into the manufacturing 
system, the bad effects of these doctrines have been 
very fatal. The doctrine of minds, as independent 
substances, leads directly not merely to private 
worlds of experience, but also to private worlds of 
morals. The moral intuitions can be held to apply 
only to the strictly private world of psychological 
experience. Accordingly, self-respect, and the mak- 
ing the most of your own individual opportunities, 
together constituted the efficient morality of the 
leaders among the industrialists of that period. 
The western world is now suffering from the limited 
moral outlook of the three previous generations. 

Also the assumption of the bare valuelessness of 
mere matter led to a lack of reverence in the treat- 
ment of natural or artistic beauty. Just when the 
urbanisation of the western world was entering upon 
its state of rapid development, and when the most 
delicate, anxious consideration of the aesthetic qual- 
ities of the new material environment was requisite, 
the doctrine of the irrelevance of such ideas was at 
its height. In the most advanced industrial coun- 
tries, art was treated as a frivolity. A striking 
example of this state of mind in the middle of the 
nineteenth century is to be seen in London where 
the marvellous beauty of the estuary of the Thames, 
as it curves through the city, is wantonly defaced 
by the Charing Cross railway bridge, constructed 
apart from any reference to aesthetic values. 

The two evils are: one, the ignoration of the true 
relation of each organism to its environment; and 
the other, the habit of ignoring the intrinsic worth 


~ 


282 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD LCH. 


of the environment which must be allowed its weight 
in any consideration of final ends. 

Another great fact confronting the modern world 
is the discovery of the method of training profes- 
sionals, who specialise in particular regions of 
thought and thereby progressively add to the sum 
of knowledge within their respective limitations of 
subject. In consequence of the success of this pro- 
fessionalising of knowledge, there are two points 
to be kept in mind, which differentiate our present 
age from the past. In the first place, the rate of 
progress is such that an individual human being, of 
ordinary length of life, will be called upon to face 
novel situations which find no parallel in his past. 
The fixed person for the fixed duties, who in older 
societies was such a godsend, in the future will be 
a public danger. In the second place, the modern 
professionalism in knowledge works in the opposite 
direction so far as the intellectual sphere is con- 
cerned. The modern chemist is likely to be weak 
in zoology, weaker still in his general knowledge of 
the Elizabethan drama, and completely ignorant of 
the principles of rhythm in English versification. It 
is probably safe to ignore his knowledge of ancient 
history. Of course I am speaking of general ten- 
dencies; for chemists are no worse than engineers, 
or mathematicians, or classical scholars. Effective 
knowledge is professionalised knowledge, supported 
by a restricted acquaintance with useful subjects 
subservient to it. 

This situation has its dangers. It produces minds 
in a groove. Each profession makes progress, but 
it is progress in its own groove. Now to be men- 


xur] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 283 


tally in a groove is to live in contemplating a given 
set of abstractions. The groove prevents straying 
across country, and the abstraction abstracts from 
something to which no further attention is paid. 
But there is no groove of abstractions which is ade- 
quate for the comprehension of human life. Thus 
in the modern world, the celibacy of the medieval 
learned class has been replaced by a celibacy of the 
intellect which is divorced from the concrete contem- 
plation of the complete facts. Of course, no one 
is merely a mathematician, or merely a lawyer. 
People have lives outside their professions or their 
businesses. But the point is the restraint of serious 
thought within a groove. The remainder of life is 
treated superficially, with the imperfect categories 
of thought derived from one profession. 

The dangers arising from this aspect of profes- 
sionalism are great, particularly in our democratic 
societies. he directive force of reason is weakened. 
The leading intellects lack balance. They see this 
set of circumstances, or that set; but not both sets 
together. The task of codrdination is left to those 
who lack either the force or the character to suc- 
ceed in some definite career. In short, the special- 
ised functions of the community are performed bet- 
ter and more progressively, but the generalised direc- 
tion lacks vision. The progressiveness in detail only 
adds to the danger produced by the feebleness of 
coordination. 

This criticism of modern life applies throughout, 
in whatever sense you construe the meaning of a com- 
munity. It holds if you apply it to a nation, a city, 
a district, an institution, a family, or even to an indi- 


284 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


vidual. There is a development of particular 
abstractions, and a contraction of concrete apprecia- 
tion. The whole is lost in one of its aspects. It is 
not necessary for my point that I should maintain 
that our directive wisdom, either as individuals or 
as communities, is less now than in the past. Per- 
haps it has slightly improved. But the novel pace 
of progress requires a greater force of direction if 
disasters are to be avoided. ‘The point is that the 
discoveries of the nineteenth century were in the 
direction of professionalism, so that we are left 
with no expansion of wisdom and with greater need 
of it. 

- Wisdom is the fruit of a balanced development. 
It is this balanced growth of individuality which it 
should be the aim of education to secure. The most 
useful discoveries for the immediate future would 
concern the furtherance of this aim without detri- 
ment to the necessary intellectual professionalism. 

My own criticism of our traditional educational 
methods is that they are far too much occupied with 
intellectual analysis, and with the acquirement of 
formularised information. What I mean is, that we 
neglect to strengthen habits of concrete apprecia- 
tion of the individual facts in their full interplay of 
emergent values, and that we merely emphasise 
abstract formulations which ignore this aspect of 
the interplay of diverse values. 

In every country the problem of the balance of 
the general and specialist education is under con- 
sideration. J cannot speak with first-hand knowl- 
edge of any country but my own. I know that there, 
among practical educationalists, there is considerable 


x1] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 285 


dissatisfaction with the existing practice. Also, the 
adaptation of the whole system to the needs of a 
democratic community is very far from being solved. 
I do not think that the secret of the solution lies 
in terms of the antithesis between thoroughness in 
special knowledge and general knowledge of a 
slighter character. The. make-weight which bal- 
ances the thoroughness of the specialist intellectual 
training should be of a radically different kind from 
purely intellectual analytical knowledge. At pres- 
ent our education combines a thorough study of a 
few abstractions, with a slighter study of a larger 
number of abstractions. We are too exclusively 
bookish in our scholastic routine. The general 
training should aim at eliciting our concrete appre- 
hensions, and should satisfy the itch of youth to 
be doing something. ‘There should be some analysis 
even here, but only just enough to illustrate the 
ways of thinking in diverse spheres. In the Garden 
of Eden Adam saw the animals before he named 
them: in the traditional system, children named the 
animals before they saw them. 

There is no easy single solution of the practical 
difficulties of education. We can, however, guide 
ourselves by a certain simplicity in its general theory. 
The student should concentrate within a limited 
field. Such concentration should include all practical 
and intellectual acquirements requisite for that con- 
centration. This is the ordinary procedure; and, in 
respect to it, I should be inclined even to increase 
the facilities for concentration rather than to dimin- 
ish them. With the concentration there are asso- 
ciated certain subsidiary studies, such as languages 


286 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


for science. Such a scheme of professional training 
should be directed to a clear end congenial to the 
student. It is not necessary to elaborate the quali- 
fications of these statements. Such a training must, 
of course, have the width requisite for its end. But 
its design should not be complicated by the consid- 
eration of other ends. This professional training 
can only touch one side of education. Its centre 
of gravity lies in the intellect, and its chief tool is 
the printed book. The centre of gravity of the 
other side of training should lie in intuition without 
an analytical divorce from the total environment. 
Its object is immediate apprehension with the mini- 
mum of eviscerating analysis. The type of gener- 
ality, which above all is wanted, is the appreciation 
of variety of value. I mean an aesthetic growth. 
There is something between the gross specialised 
values of the mere practical man, and the thin spe- 
cialised values of the mere scholar. Both types 
have missed something; and if you add together the 
two sets of values, you do not obtain the missing 
elements. What is wanted is an appreciation of 
the infinite variety of vivid values achieved by an 
organism in its proper environment. When you 
understand all about the sun and all about the atmos- 
phere and all about the rotation of the earth, you 
may still miss the radiance of the sunset. ‘There 
is no substitute for the direct perception of the con- 
crete achievement of a thing in its actuality. We 
want concrete fact with a high light thrown on what 
is relevant to its preciousness. 

What I mean is art and aesthetic education. It 
is, however, art in such a general sense of the term 


Xur]} REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 287 


that I hardly like to call it by that name. Art is a 
special example. What we want is to draw out 
habits of aesthetic apprehension. According to the 
metaphysical doctrine which I have been developing, 
to do so is to increase the depth of individuality. 
The analysis of reality indicates the two factors, 
activity emerging into individualised aesthetic value. 
Also the emergent value is the measure of the indi- 
vidualisation of the activity. We must foster the 
creative initiative towards the maintenance of objec- 
tive values. You will not obtain the apprehension 
without the initiative, or the initiative without the 
apprehension. As soon as you get towards the con- 
crete, you cannot exclude action. Sensitiveness 
without impulse spells decadence, and impulse with- 
out sensitiveness spells brutality. I am using the 
word ‘sensitiveness’ in its most general signifi- 
cation, so as to include apprehension of what lies 
beyond oneself; that is to say, sensitiveness to all 
the facts of the case. Thus ‘art’? in the general 
sense which I require is any selection by which the 
concrete facts are so arranged as to elicit attention 
to particular values which are realisable by them. 
For example, the mere disposing of the human body 
and the eyesight so as to get a good view of a sun- 
set is a simple form of artistic selection. The habit 
of art is the habit of enjoying vivid values. 

But, in this sense, art concerns more than sunsets. 
A factory, with its machinery, its community of 
operatives, its social service to the general popula- 
tion, its dependence upon organising and designing 
genius, its potentialities as a source of wealth to the 
holders of its stock is an organism exhibiting a vari- 


288 |. SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


ety of vivid values. What we want to train is the 
habit of apprehending such an organism in its com- 
pleteness. It is very arguable that the science of 
political economy, as studied in its first period after 
the death of Adam Smith (1790), did more harm 
than good. It destroyed many economic fallacies, 
and taught how to think about the economic revolu- 
tion then in progress. But it riveted on men a cer- 
tain set of abstractions which were disastrous in their 
influence on modern mentality. It de-humanised 
industry. This is only one example of a general 
danger inherent in modern science. Its methodolog- 
ical procedure is exclusive and intolerant, and rightly 
so. It fixes attention on a definite group of abstrac- 
tions, neglects everything else, and elicits every scrap 
of information and theory which is relevant to what 
it has retained. ‘This method is triumphant, pro- 
vided that the abstractions are judicious. But, 
however triumphant, the triumph is within limits. 
The neglect of these limits leads to disastrous over- 
sights. The anti-rationalism of science is partly jus- 
tified, as a preservation of its useful methodology; 
it is partly mere irrational prejudice. Modern pro- 
fessionalism is the training of minds to conform to 
the methodology. ‘The historical revolt of the sev- 
enteenth century, and the earlier reaction towards 
naturalism, were examples of transcending the 
abstractions which fascinated educated society in 
the Middle Ages. These early ages had an ideal 
of rationalism, but they failed in its pursuit. For 
they neglected to note that the methodology of 
reasoning requires the limitations involved in the 
abstract. Accordingly, the true rationalism must 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 239 


always transcend itself by recurrence to the concrete 
in search of inspiration. A self-satisfied rationalism 
is in effect a form of anti-rationalism. It means an 
arbitrary halt at a particular set of abstractions. 
This was the. case with science. 

There are two principles inherent in the very 
nature of things, recurring in some particular embod- 
iments whatever field we explore—the spirit of 
change, and the spirit of conservation. There can 
be nothing real without both. Mere change without 
conservation is a passage from nothing to nothing. 
Its final integration yields mere transient non-entity. 
Mere conservation without change cannot conserve. 
For after all, there is a flux of circumstance, and the 
freshness of being evaporates under mere repetition. 
The character of existent reality is composed of 
organisms enduring through the flux of things. The 
low type of organisms have achieved a self-identity 
dominating their whole physical life. Electrons, 
molecules, crystals, belong to this type. They 
exhibit a massive and complete sameness. In the 
higher types, where life appears, there is greater 
complexity. Thus, though there is a complex, endur- 
ing pattern, it has retreated into deeper recesses of 
the total fact. In a sense, the self-identity of a 
human being is more abstract than that of a crystal. 
It is the life of the spirit. It relates rather to the 
individualisation of the creative activity; so that the 
changing circumstances received from the environ- 
ment are differentiated from the living personality, 
and are thought of as forming its perceived field. 
In truth, the field of perception and the perceiving 
mind are abstractions which, in the concrete, combine 


290 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


into the successive bodily events. ‘The psychological 
field, as restricted to sense-objects and passing emo- 
tions, is the minor permanence, barely rescued from 
the nonentity of mere change; and the mind is the 
major permanence, permeating that complete field, 
whose endurance is the living soul. But the soul 
would wither without fertilisation from its transient 
experiences. ‘The secret of the higher organisms 
lies in their two grades of permanences. By this 
means the freshness of the environment is absorbed 
into the permanence of the soul. The changing 
environment is no longer, by reason of its variety, 
an enemy to the endurance of the organism. ‘The 
pattern of the higher organism has retreated into 
the recesses of the individualised activity. It has 
become a uniform way of dealing with circum- 
stances; and this way is only strengthened by 
having a proper variety of circumstances to deal 
with. 

This fertilisation of the soul is the reason for the 
necessity of art. A static value, however serious 
and important, becomes unendurable by its appalling 
monotony of endurance. ‘The soul cries aloud for 
release into change. It suffers the agonies of 
claustrophobia. The transitions of humour, wit, 
irreverence, play, sleep, and—above all—of art are 
necessary for it. Great art is the arrangement of 
the environment so as to provide for the soul vivid, 
but transient, values. Human beings require some- 
thing which absorbs them for a time, something out 
of the routine which they can stare at. But you 
cannot subdivide life, except in the abstract analysis 
of thought. Accordingly, the great art is more than 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 291 


a transient refreshment. It is something which adds 
to the permanent richness of the soul’s self-attain- 
ment. It justifies itself both by its immediate enjoy- 
ment, and also by its discipline of the inmost being. 
Its discipline is not distinct from enjoyment, but 
by reason of it. It transforms the soul into the 
permanent realisation of values extending beyond 
its former self. This element of transition in art 
is shown by the restlessness exhibited in its history. 
An epoch gets saturated by the masterpieces of any 
one style. Something new must be discovered. The 
human being wanders on. Yet there is a balance in 
things. Mere change before the attainment of ade- 
quacy of achievement, either in quality or output, is 
destructive of greatness. But the importance of a 
living art, which moves on and yet leaves its per- 
manent mark, can hardly be exaggerated. 

In regard to the aesthetic needs of civilised society 
the reactions of science have so far been unfortunate. 
Its materialistic basis has directed attention to 
things as opposed to values. The antithesis is a 
false one, if taken in a concrete sense. But it is valid 
at the abstract level of ordinary thought. This mis- 
placed emphasis coalesced with the abstractions of 
political economy, which are in fact the abstractions 
in terms of which commercial affairs are carried on. 
Thus all thought concerned with social organisation 
expressed itself in terms of material things and of 
capital. Ultimate values were excluded. They were 
politely bowed to, and then handed over to the 
clergy to be kept for Sundays. A creed of competi- 
tive business morality was evolved, in some respects 
curiously high; but entirely devoid of consideration 


292 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH, 


for the value of human life. The workmen were 
conceived as mere hands, drawn from the pool of 
labour. To God’s question, men gave the answer 
of Cain—‘Am I my brother’s keeper ?’; and they 
incurred Cain’s guilt. This was the atmosphere in 
which the industrial revolution was accomplished in 
England, and to a large extent elsewhere. The 
internal history of England during the last half 
century has been an endeavour slowly and painfully 
to undo the evils wrought in the first stage of the 
new epoch. It may be that civilisation will never 
recover from the bad climate which enveloped the 
introduction of machinery. ‘This climate pervaded 
the whole commercial system of the progressive 
northern European races. It was partly the result 
of aesthetic errors of Protestantism and partly the 
result of scientific materialism, and partly the result 
of the natural greed of mankind, and partly the 
result of the abstractions of political economy. An 
illustration of my point is to be found in Macaulay’s 
Essay criticising Southey’s Colloquies on Society. 
It was written in 1830. Now Macaulay was a very 
favourable example of men living at that date, or 
at any date. He had genius; he was kind-hearted, 
honourable, and a reformer. This is the extract :— 
‘We are told, that our age has invented atrocities 
beyond the imagination of our fathers; that society 
has been brought into a state compared with which 
extermination would be a blessing; and all because 
the dwellings of cotton-spinners are naked and rec- 
tangular. Mr. Southey has found out a way he tells 
us, in which the effects of manufactures and agri- 
culture may be compared. And what is this way? 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 293 


To stand on a hill, to look at a cottage and a factory, 
and to see which is the prettier.’ 

Southey seems to have said many silly things in 
his book; but, so far as this extract is concerned, he 
could make a good case for himself if he returned 
to earth after the lapse of nearly a century. The 
evils of the early industrial system are now a com- 
monplace of knowledge. The point which I am 
insisting on is the stone-blind eye with which even 
the best men of that time regarded the importance 
of aesthetics in a nation’s life. I do not believe 
that we have as yet nearly achieved the right esti- 
mate. A contributory cause, of substantial efficacy 
to produce this disastrous error, was the scientific 
creed that matter in motion is the one concrete real- 
ity in nature; so that aesthetic values form an adven- 
titious, irrelevant addition. 

There is another side to this picture of the possi- 
bilities of decadence. At the present moment a dis- 
cussion is raging as to the future of civilisation in 
the novel circumstances of rapid scientific and tech- 
nological advance. The evils of the future have 
been diagnosed in various ways, the loss of religious 
faith, the malignant use of material power, the 
degradation attending a differential birth rate 
favouring the lower types of humanity, the suppres- 
sion of aesthetic creativeness. Without doubt, these 
are all evils, dangerous and threatening. But they 
are not new. From the dawn of history, mankind 
has always been losing its religious faith, has always 
suffered from the malignant use of material power, 
has always suffered from the infertility of its best 
intellectual types, has always witnessed the periodi- 


294 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


cal decadence of art. In the reign of the Egyptian 
king, Tutankhamen, there was raging a desperate 
religious struggle between Modernists and Funda- 
mentalists; the cave pictures exhibit a phase of deli- 
cate aesthetic achievement as superseded by a period 
of comparative vulgarity; the religious leaders, the 
great thinkers, the great poets and authors, the 
whole clerical caste in the Middle Ages, have been 
notably infertile; finally, if we attend to what actu- 
ally has happened in the past, and disregard roman- 
tic visions of democracies, aristocracies, kings, gen- 
erals, armies, and merchants, material power has 
generally been wielded with blindness, obstinacy and 
selfishness, often with brutal malignancy. And yet, 
mankind has progressed. Even if you take a tiny 
oasis of peculiar excellence, the type of modern man 
who would have most chance of happiness in ancient 
Greece at its best period is probably (as now) an 
average professional heavy-weight boxer, and not 
an average Greek scholar from Oxford or Germany. 
Indeed, the main use of the Oxford scholar would 
have been his capability of writing an ode in glori. 
fication of the boxer. Nothing does more harm in 
unnerving men for their duties in the present, than 
the attention devoted to the points of excellence in 
the past as compared with the average failure of the 
present day. 

But, after all, there have been real periods of 
decadence; and at the present time, as at other 
epochs, society is decaying, and there is need for 
preservative action. Professionals are not new to 
the world. But in the past, professionals have 
formed unprogressive castes. ‘The point is that pro- 


x11] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 295 


fessionalism has now been mated with progress. 
The world is now faced with a self-evolving system, 
which it cannot stop. There are dangers and advan- 
tages in this situation. It is obvious that the gain 
in material power affords opportunity for social 
betterment. If mankind can rise to the occasion, 
there lies in front a golden age of beneficent crea- 
tiveness. But material power in itself is ethically 
neutral. It can equally well work in the wrong 
direction. The problem is not how to produce great 
men, but how to produce great societies. The great 
society will put up the men for the occasions. The 
materialistic philosophy emphasised the given quan- 
tity of material, and thence derivatively the given 
nature of the environment. It thus operated most 
unfortunately upon the social conscience of man- 
kind. For it directed almost exclusive attention to 
the aspect of struggle for existence in a fixed environ- 
ment. To a large extent the environment is fixed, 
and to this extent there is a struggle for existence. 
It is folly to look at the universe through rose-tinted 
spectacles. We must admit the struggle. The ques- 
tion is, who is to be eliminated. In so far as we are 
educators, we have to have clear ideas upon that 
point; for it settles the type to be produced and the 
practical ethics to be inculcated. 

But during the last three generations, the exclu- 
sive direction of attention to this aspect of things 
has been a disaster of the first magnitude. The 
watchwords of the nineteenth century have been, 
struggle for existence, competition, class warfare, 
commercial antagonism between nations, military 
warfare. The struggle for existence has been con- 


256 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD [cH. 


strued into the gospel of hate. The full conclusion 
to be drawn from a philosophy of evolution is fortu- 
nately of a more balanced character. Successful 
organisms modify their environment. Those organ- 
isms are successful which modify their environments 
so as to assist each other. This law is exemplified 
in nature on a vast scale. For example, the North 
American Indians accepted their environment, with 
the result that a scanty population barely succeeded 
in maintaining themselves over the whole continent. 
The European races when they arrived in the same 
continent pursued an opposite policy. They at once 
codperated in modifying their environment. ‘The 
result is that a population more than twenty times 
that of the Indian population now occupies the same 
territory, and the continent is not yet full. Again, 
there are associations of different species which 
mutually codperate. This differentiation of species 
is exhibited in the simplest physical entities, such 
as the association between electrons and positive 
nuclei, and in the whole realm of animate nature. 
The trees in a Brazilian forest depend upon the 
association of various species of organisms, each of 
which is mutually dependent on the other species. 
A single tree by itself is dependent upon all the 
adverse chances of shifting circumstances. The 
wind stunts it: the variations in temperature check 
its foliage: the rains denude its soil: its leaves are 
blown away and are lost for the purpose of fertilisa- 
tion. You may obtain individual specimens of fine 
trees either in exceptional circumstances, or where 
human cultivation has intervened. But in nature 
the normal way in which trees flourish is by their 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 297 


association in a forest. Each tree-may lose some- 
thing of its individual perfection of growth, but they 
mutually assist each other in preserving the condi- 
tions for survival. The soil is preserved and shaded; 
and the microbes necessary for its fertility are 
neither scorched, nor frozen, nor washed away. A 
forest is the triumph of the organisation of 
mutually dependent species. Further a species of 
microbes which kills the forest, also exterminates 
itself. Again the two sexes exhibit the same advan- 
tage of differentiation. In the history of the world, 
the prize has not gone to those species which spe- 
cialised in methods of violence, or even in defensive 
armour. In fact, nature began with producing ani- 
mals encased in hard shells for defence against the 
ills of life. It also experimented in size. But 
smaller animals, without external armour, warm- 
blooded, sensitive, and alert, have cleared these 
monsters off the face of the earth. Also, the lions 
and tigers are not the successful species. ‘There is 
something in the ready use of force which defeats its 
own object. Its main defect is that it bars codpera- 
tion. Every organism requires an environment of 
friends, partly to shield it from violent changes, 
and partly to supply it with its wants. The Gospel 
of Force is incompatible with a social life. By force, 
I mean antagonism in its most general sense. 
Almost equally dangerous is the Gospel of Uni- 
formity. The differences between the nations and 
races of mankind are required to preserve the con- 
ditions under which higher development is possible. 
One main factor in the upward trend of animal life 
has been the power of wandering. Perhaps this is 


298 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cH. 


why the armour-plated monsters fared badly. They 
could not wander. Animals wander into new condi- 
tions. They have to adapt themselves or die. 
Mankind has wandered from the trees to the plains, 
from the plains to the seacoast, from climate to cli- 
mate, from continent to continent, and from habit 
of life to habit of life. When man ceases to wander, 
he will cease to ascend in the scale of being. Physi- 
cal wandering is still important, but greater still is 
the power of man’s spiritual adventures—adventures 
of thought, adventures of passionate feeling, adven- 
tures of aesthetic experience. A diversification 
among human communities is essential for the pro- 
vision of the incentive and material for the Odyssey 
of the human spirit. Other nations of different 
habits are not enemies: they are godsends. Men 
require of their neighbours something sufficiently 
akin to be understood, something sufficiently differ- 
ent to provoke attention, and something great 
enough to command admiration. We must not 
expect, however, all the virtues. We should even 
be satisfied if there is something odd enough to be 
interesting. 

Modern science has imposed on humanity the 
necessity for wandering. Its progressive thought 
and its progressive technology make the transition 
through time, from generation to generation, a true 
migration into uncharted seas of adventure. The 
very benefit of wandering is that it is dangerous 
and needs skill to avert evils. We must expect, 
therefore, that the future will disclose dangers. It 
is the business of the future to be dangerous; and 
it is among the merits of science that it equips the 


xu] REQUISITES FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS 299 


future for its duties. The prosperous middle classes, 
who ruled the nineteenth century, placed an exces- 
sive value upon placidity of existence. ‘They refused 
to face the necessities for social reform imposed by 
the new industrial system, and they are now refusing 
to face the necessities for intellectual reform 
imposed by the new knowledge. The middle class 
pessimism over the future of the world comes from 
a confusion between civilisation and security. In 
the immediate future there will be less security than 
in the immediate past, less stability. It must be 
admitted that there is a degree of instability which 
is inconsistent with civilisation. But, on the whole, 
the great ages have been unstable ages. 

I have endeavoured in these lectures to give a rec- 
ord of a great adventure in the region of thought. 
It was shared in by all the races of western Europe. 
Tt developed with the slowness of a mass movement. 
Half a century is its unit of time. ‘The tale is the 
epic of an episode in the manifestation of reason. 
It tells how a particular direction of reason emerges 
in a race by the long preparation of antecedent 
epochs, how after its birth its subject-matter grad- 
ually unfolds itself, how it attains its triumphs, how 
its influence moulds the very springs of action of 
mankind, and finally how at its moment of supreme 
success its limitations disclose themselves and call 
for a renewed exercise of the creative imagination. 
The moral of the tale is the power of reason, its 
decisive influence on the life of humanity. The great 
conquerors, from Alexander to Caesar, and from 
Caesar to Napoleon, influenced profoundly the lives 
of subsequent generations. But the total effect of 


300 SCIENCE AND THE MODERN WORLD (cu. xu] 


this influence shrinks to insignificance, if compared 
to the entire transformation of human habits and 
human mentality produced by the long line of men 
of thought from Thales to the present day, men 
individually powerless, but ultimately the rulers of 
the world. 


INDEX 


The numbers refer to pages; and ‘es.’ stands for ‘et 


$EQ.'s 


where the reference is to the succeeding pages of the chapter in 


question. 


Abruptness (in Ingression), 246. 

Absolute, The, 134. 

Abstract, 228. 

Abstraction, 241, ¢.s. 

Abstraction (in Mathematics), 
29, é.5. 

Abstractive Hierarchy, 241, e.s. 

Acceleration, 69. 

Actualisation, 229. 

Adam Smith, 288. 

Aeschylus, 15. 

Alexander, S., Preface. 

Algebra, 44, 45. 

Alva, 2. 

Ampére, 144. 

Analytical Character (Eternal 
Ubjects), 236. 

Anselm, St., 83. 

‘Any,’ 237. 

Aquinas, Thomas, 13, 14, 212. 

Arabic Arithmetical Notation, 


44. 

Archimedes, 7, 8, 9, 11. 

Arguments (of functions), 45. 

Aristotle, 7, ¢.5.; 43, 44; 66, e.5.; 
186, 193; 244, é.s5. 

Arnold, Matthew, 119. 

Art, 286, 287. 

Art, Medieval, 19, e.s. 

Aspect, 102; 151, @.5. 

Associated Hierarchy, 245. 

Aston, F. W., 267. 

Atom, 145, 149. 

Augustine, Saint, 273. 


Bacon, Francis, 12; 58, ¢.s.; 96, 
141. 

Bacon, Roger, 7. 

Base of Abstractive Hierarchy, 
243. 

Being, 234. 


9 
oo 


Belisarius, 20. 

Benedict, Saint, 22. 

Bergson, 74}; 202, @.s. 

Berkeley, George, 96, 97, ¢.5.; 
109, 125, 204. 

Bichat, 146. 

Biology, 60, 92, 150. 

Bonaventure, Saint, 13. 

Boyle, Robert, 59. 

Brown University, Preface. 

Bruno, Giordano, 2. 

Byzantine Empire, 20. 


Carlyle, 89. 

Cervantes, 58. 

Change, 126. 

Chaucer, 23. 

China, 8, 9, 110. 

Clairaut, 88, 199. 

Classification, 43, eé.s. 

Clough, A. H., 120. 

Cognition, 101. 

Coleridge, 120. 

Columbus, 23, 51. 

Complex Eternal Objects, 239. 

Components, 239. 

Conic Sections, 44. 

Connexity (of a Hierarchy), 
242. 

Connectedness (of an occasion), 
245. 

Conservation of Energy, 147, @.5. 

Continuity, 145. 

Copernicus, 1, 23, 58, 184. 

Cosmas, 261. 

Cromwell, Oliver, 24. 


D’Alembert, 83, 88. 

Dalton, John, 145, 146. 

Da Vinci, Leonardo, 62, 63. 
Darwin, 270. 


01 


302 


Democritus, 145. 

Demos, R., Preface. 

Density, 73, 195. 

Desargues, 81. 

Descartes, 26; 44, ¢.5.5 46, 59; 
TOS SEIS NOL e.8.) 2796 

Determinism, 114. 

Differential Calculus, 81. 

Discontinuous Existence, 53} 
196.) e.3. 

Distance, 178. 

Divinity, Scholastic, 17. 

Divisibility, 183. 


Education, 284 e.s. 

Egyptians, 21, 45. 

Einstein, 15, 42, 89, 91, 92, 179, 
€.5. 51270. 

Electron, 53, €.5.; 116, é.5.; 
é.S. 

Empty Events, 221. 

Endurance, 126; 152, @.5.; 
BiG oe 102 e685 edo 

Endurance, Vibratory, 53. 

Energy, Physical, 53, e.s. 

Environment, 160, @.5. 

Envisagement, 154, @.5. 

Epochs, 183. 

Epochal Durations, 198. 

Essence, 180. 

Eternal Objects, 126, e.5.; 
FB Dip yy Sen Pe He 

Ether, 190. 

Euripides, 15. 

Event, 106; 174, @.5. 

Evolution, 135; 147, é.s. 

Exhaustion, Method of, 44. 

Extension, 183. 

Extensive Quantity, 183. 

External Relations, 230, e.s. 

Extrinsic Reality, 151. 


1g9I, 


174» 


ISI, 


Fallacy of Misplaced Concrete- 
ness, 75, é.5.;5 85. 

Faraday, 144. 

Fate, 15. 

Fermat, 81. 

Finite Abstractive 
242. 

Form, 238. 

Force, 67, @.5. 

Fourier, 88. 


Hierarchy, 


INDEX 


Francis of Assisi, 265. 
Frederick the Great, 92. 
Frequency, 187, é.5. 
Fresnel, 144. 

Frost, Robert, 23. 
Future, 252, ¢.5. 


Galileo, 2, ¢.5.; 44, 46, 47; 58, 
€.5.; 92, 167, 193; 262, es. 

Galvani, 92. 

Gauss, 89, 92. 

Geometry, 32, ¢.5. 

George II, 97. 

Germany, 59. 

Gibson, 213. 

God, 18, 90, 1343 249, @é.5. 

Gradation of Envisagement, 
254. 

Gravitation, 67, 178. 

Greece, 10, é.5. 

Gregorovius, 273. 

Giotto, 23. 

Gregory, The Great, 22, 272. 


Harvey, 58, 59. 

Heath, Sir T. Ts 186, 

Hegel, 42. 

Herz, 89, 91. . 

Historical Revolt, 12, @.5.; 57, 
155. 

Hooker, Richard, 14. 

Hume, 5, 6, 49, 63, 75, 76; 83, 
€.5.3 III, 204. 

Huyghens, 46, 47; 59, ¢.5.; 263. 


Idealism, 93; 131, @.s. 
Immediate Occasion, 38, e.5.; 64. 
Individual Essence, 229, e.5. 
Induction, 35; 62, e.5. 
Infinite Abstractive Hierarcny, 
242. 
Ingression, 103, @.5.; 229. 
Integral Calculus, 44. 
Internal Relations, 181; 
Intrinsic Reality, 151. 
Invention, 141, @.5. 
Tonian Philosophers, 10. 
Irresistible Grace, 109. 
isolated Systems, 68. 
Isolation of Eternal 
oa 
Isotopes, 267. 


230 @.5. 


Objects, 


INDEX 


Italy, 59. 


James, Henry, 3. 

James, William, 3; 205, e.s. 
Joseph, Hapsburg Emperor, 92. 
Justinian, 20, 21. 


Kant, 49; 97, éS.5 125, 147, 1835 
199, @.5. 
Kepler, 10, 47, 59, 69. 


Lagrange, 88, e.s. 

Laplace, 88, 147. 

Lavoisier, 87, 145. 

Law, Roman, 16. 

Laws of Nature, 46, 155. 

Least Action, 91, 155. 

Lecky, 16, 362. 

Leibniz, 44, 46, 49, 59, 95, 119; 
204, @.5. 

Life, 60. 

Limitation, 232, e.s. 

Lloyd Morgan, Preface. 

Location, Simple, 71 e.5.; 85, 
é.5.; 98. 

Locke,” John, 44, 48; 59, ¢.5.; 92, 
98, 119, 204. 

Locomotion, Vibratory, 190, ¢.5. 

Logic, Abstract, 39, @.5. 

Logic, Scholastic, 17. 

Lucretius, 145. 


Macaulay, 292. 

Milton, 112, @.s. 

Mind, 81. 

Mass, 66, ¢.5.; 149. 

Mathematics, 10, 23; 29, e.5. 

Mathematics, Applied, 36, e.s. 

Matter, 36, 60, 98, 149. 

Matter (philosophical), 238. 

Maupertuis, 88, e.s. 

Max Miiller, 184. 

Maxwell, Clerk, 88, e.s.; 144, 
££. fet 00. 

Mechanical Explanation, 24. 

Mechanism, 111, @.s. 

Mechanistic Theory, 74. 

Memory, 75. 

Mersenne, 47. 

Michelson, 167, e@.s. 

Mill, John Stuart, 114. 

Modal Character of Space, 94, 
é.5. 


303 


Modal Limitation, 255, ¢.s. 
Mode, 102. 

Moral Responsibility, 114, ¢.s. 
Motion, Laws of, 67, e.s. 
Miller, Johannes, 146. 


Narses, 20. 

Natural Selection, 163. 

Naturalism in Art, 23. 

Newman, John Henry, 120, 262. 

Newton, 8, 10, 15; 44 @.5.; 60, 
ES eOTs Ls LOO te tO2. OS. 

Not-Being, 234. 


Objectivism, 128, e.s. 

Occasions, Community of, 65. 

Occupied Events, 222. 

Oersted, 144. 

Order of Nature, 5, ¢.5.; 41, @.5.; 
57: 

Organic Mechanism, 116, 156. 

Organism, 53, ¢.5.; 60, 93; I10, 
Efe SITS, er$ip7 2 50, 0E Si DaOTs 
C85 55216, 


Padua, University of, 59, 60. 

Paley, ‘111. 

Papacy, 13, 20. 

Pascal, 59, 81. 

Past, 252, e.5. 

Pasteur, Louis, 146, @.s. 

Pelagius, 273. 

Perception, 104. 

Periodic Law (Mendeleéf), 147. 

Periodicity, 47, ¢.5. 

Perspective, 102. 

Petavius, 262. 

Philosophy, 126. 

Physical Field, 143. 

Physics, 60. 

Plato; 103 V42°' é.6..-8286. 

Pope, Alexander, 112, e.5. 

Possibility, 230. 

Prehension, 101, ¢.5; 213. 

Prehensive Character of Space, 
94, @.5. 

Present, 252, ¢.5. 

Primary Qualities, 79. 

Primate, 191, @.5. 

Prime Mover, 249, @.5. 

Primordial Element, 53, ¢.s. 

Process, 106. 


304 - 


Professionalism, 278, ¢.s. 
Proton, 53. é.5... 191, 0¢.5. 
Psychology, 92, 107. 
Pusey, 120. 

Pythagoras, 41, ¢.s.; 248. 


Quality, 76, e.s. 
Quantum Theory, 52; 187, ¢.s. 


Rationalism, 13, ¢.5.; 57. 
Ramsay, Sir William, 266. 
Rawley, Dr., 60. 
Rayleigh, Lord, 266. 
Realism, 131, @.5. 
Reformation, 12. 
Reiteration, 152; 193, ¢.5. 
Relational Essence, 230, ¢.5. 
Relativity, 71; 170, e.5. 
Retention, 152. 

Kiemann, 89, 92. 

Romans, 9. 

Roman Law, 20. 

Rome, 22. 

Rousseau, 51, 96, 140. 
Royal Society, 44, 76. 
Russell, Bertrand, 223. 


Sarpi, Paul, 12, 27. 

Schleiden, 146. 

Schwann, 146. 

Scientific Materialism, 25, 26. 

Scientific Movement, 12. 

Secondary Qualities, 79, 132. 

Seneca, 16. 

Sense-Object, 103. 

Separative Character of Space, 
94, é.5. 

Shakespeare, 58. 

Shape, 95. 

Shelley, 120, e.s. 

Sidgwick, Henry, 204. 

Simple Eternal Objects, 240. 

Simple Location, 72, e.s.; 84, 
O:Sis Vw ESA esses RAAT 

Simultaneity, 179. 

‘Some,’ 237. 

Southey, 292, 293. 

Space, Physical, 33. 

Spatialisation, 74, 182, 212. 

Specious Present, 153. 

Spinoza, 44, 59, 102, 119, 120, 
181, 204, 205, 255. 


INDEX 


Sophocles, 15. 

Standpoint, 103, ¢.s. 

Stoicism, 17. 

Struggle for Existence, 163. 

Subjectivism, 128, e.s. 

Substance, 76, ¢.5.; 181. 

Substantial Activity, 157, 180, 
238. 

Superject, 238. 

Synthetic Prehension, 231, ¢.s. 


Technology, 140, @.s. 
Temporalisation, 185. 
Tennyson, 112, 113, @é.5. 
‘Time, 174, @.5. 
Tragedy, 15. 
Translucency 
247. 

Trent, Council of, 12. 
Trigonometry, 44. 
True Proposition, 231. 


of Realisation, 


Unknowns (in Mathematics), 


45. 
Universals, 228. 
Untrue Propositions, 228. 


Value, 127, ¢.5.5 233, 256. 

Variable, The, 38, ¢.5.; 237. 

Vasco da Gama, 23. 

Velocity, 67, ¢.5.; 171, é.5. 

Vertex of Abstractive 
archy, 243. 

Vesalius, 1. 

Vibration, 192, @.s. 

Vibratory Organic Deformation, 
19I, é.5. 

Virtual Work, 91. 

Vitalism25,.¢.s.49 2 SO. 

Volta, 92. 

Voltaire, 59; 93, ¢.5.5 148. 


Hier- 


Walpole, 92. 
Washington, George, 92. 
Watt, James, 140. 
Wesley, John, 96. 
Whitman, Walt, 23. 
Wordsworth, 23; 112, @.5. 


Young, Thomas, 144. 
Zeno, 183, 185, 198. 














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